But I Thought I'd Never Meet You
by En Parodia
Summary: I know there are a lot of James-going-into-the future fics flying around, but give this one a shot. From flight to fright to fight! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Narrow Escapes

No, I don't own these characters, though sometimes I feel like I do. JKR owns them and this is just a bit of fan fiction. Yes, I do know that the topic is a bit clichéd, but it is ever so fun to mess with. What would happen if somehow, Harry and James met up? Comments, comments. Comments will make me update quicker, believe me.

.........

"James Potter!" Came the furious voice from down the hall. James skidded around a corner, black robes fluttering behind him in his haste. He might have been a seventh-year, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and Head Boy to boot, but when Lily Evans was angry with him, he still flinched. Or ran away, as it was apparent now. They had been girlfriend and boyfriend for a while now and it was clear that Lily wore the trousers in this relationship. James was only glad that Sirius wasn't around right now to see him running from the red-haired, green-eyed beauty that was his girlfriend. Sirius would be quick to make a remark about him being 'whipped', he was sure.

"James! I know it was you!" James cringed; she knew him too well. Despite the fact that he was Head Boy (only further proof that Albus Dumbledore really must be off of his rocker; James was a notorious prankster along with his best friend Sirius) and should be 'setting an example', as Ms. Perfect Head Girl Lily kept telling him, he couldn't resist the temptation to pull one of his infamous stunts. He was very fond of Stinksap and Dungbomb combinations. Apparently, Lily knew this as well. He was getting to predictable. He heard her footsteps and ran like someone had lit a fire beneath him, finally coming to a halt in front of the door of a room not known to many others—The Room of Requirement. He grinned wryly and slipped inside, certain that he was safe now. Only James, Sirius, Remus and Peter knew about this place and therefore, however clever a witch Lily was, she wouldn't be finding him anytime soon.

He nearly laughed aloud when the room seemed to read his mind, butterbeer appearing, bottle upon bottle on thick, tall shelves that seemed to never end. He walked over to one promptly, thinking that the only better thing to have would be...firewhiskey! Suddenly, for every bottle of butterbeer, there was a bottle of the stronger liquid. Ah, yes. Within a few moments, surely, he would have forgotten his humiliation at the hands of his girlfriend. After all, he didn't need her permission to pull a prank, he thought grumpily. _Just because Dumbledore was bloody stupid enough to make me Head Boy doesn't mean that I'll so easily give up a life of crime! _

James walked up to the first shelf and was just about to close his fingers around the bottle of firewhiskey when the room began shifting and moving of its own accord, gaining thick, black cauldrons, several potion ingredients that he was certain were not allowed and thick, dusty books with dodgy titles and pictures on the covers. James did not have to guess that the next figure that would appear in the doorway would be a scrawny, pale one, with loads of long, oily hair. The teenager named Severus Snape, long his worst enemy, came into the room quickly, looking over his shoulder as if expecting to be caught. James's wand was quickly out of his pocket and pointed straight at the greasy-haired Slytherin.

"Snivelly." James said casually, twirling his wand, a feral smile on his face. Just because he had previously saved the boy's life didn't mean he liked him any more than before. If anything, it made him more bitter towards Severus. If James blamed anyone for the accident that had nearly taken place, it was him. The slimy, greasy, stupid git had been the root of the problem, alright. If he hadn't goaded Sirius so far, then Padfoot never would have betrayed Remus's secret and the entire ordeal would have never happened. James never regretted saving Snape's life, but he never missed an opportunity to annoy the Slytherin when he got a chance.

The boy turned slowly and his wand was out within moments, a snarl contorting his features, "Potter."

"Fancy meeting you here." James gestured with his free hand, "I'm guessing by the atmosphere that you came for a spot of tea and some crumpets."

Snape looked around and his face darkened. He hissed in response, "What I do is none of your business, Potter." There was just enough uncertainty in his voice and face for James to move in on him. In the half-light, his Head Boy badge and glasses gleamed, his mop of messy, mussed hair blackly shining.

"I can quickly enough make it my business." James said and ended his sentence with a Jelly-legs hex. Snape was prepared for this and jumped aside, the hex harmlessly hitting the edge of his robes. He held out his wand and opened his mouth, prepared to wage war on Potter, but James beat him to it. James watched with satisfaction and disdain on his face as Snape began gagging on nothing. The more he looked around the room, the angrier he became. It was obvious that the boy was a bad egg, but _this? _It looked like Dark magic! He was so appalled that he didn't notice Snape's attempt to hex him back through the gagging—however dangerous and foolish it was of him.

Severus's eyes widened as a sudden wind rattled potion flasks, scattered loose pages and tossed his and James's hair. A split second before Potter had disappeared without a trace, gagging all the while, Severus realized that the spell must have sounded like another in his nearly incoherent state. James Potter was gone.


	2. This Harry

Don't own JKR's characters and all of that jazz. I decided to put this fanfic up in installments of two this time around, because the first chapter was SO short and also, it just wasn't fair to leave you with such a cliffhanger, eh? Reviews, reviews, please!

........

Neville Longbottom woke with a start from nightmares that didn't often easily go away. He shivered slightly and rolled over, trying to get comfortable again, but it was no use. He sighed, listened to the heavy breathing of the rest of his dorm-mates and opened his curtains, exiting the bed. As he left the dorm, he decided that he didn't want to stick around to watch the dying embers of the common room fire. A thrill of fear raced up his spine as he crossed the common room's floor, hesitating by the portrait hole. Was a bit of nighttime restlessness worth possibly losing House points for Gryffindor? Getting detention? Running into (gulp) Snape?

Trembling, he thought no further on it, but pushed his way out of the common room, stirring the Fat Lady on his way out, who grumbled something none too kind at his retreating back. His nightmare had been horribly graphic, conjurations of his overactive imagination. So many times he had dreamed of You-Know-Who's servants torturing the very people that he missed most in his life. His parents. His fists balled in anger, fear leaving his pudgy face. He was nearly stalking down the corridors now. Neville abandoned this line of thought and instead, tried to think of where to go. He didn't want to risk running into the Potions professor (He shuddered to think what would happen if Professor Snape found him out at this hour!) or anyone else. He just wanted to be alone, take his mind off of the dreams. It was too obvious.

The kitchen. The house-elves would be more than happy to assist him with any snack he might want. He thought he vaguely remembered Fred or George telling Harry where the kitchen was located. Something about...tickling pears? With this in mind, he set off to look for the kitchen. It didn't take long for him to become hopelessly lost. _There's no excuse for this, _he thought angrily, _I'm a sixth-year! I should know my way around by now. _And yet, every door suddenly looked the same, the paintings and statues monotonous. Where was he? Neville thought he recalled taking a left at some point, or had it been a right? Or had he taken a left and a right both? He felt like he was walking in circles.

Suddenly, Neville didn't very much care to be at the kitchen. He was tired again, his limbs heavy and his eyelids fluttering. He just wanted to be back at the common room. Suddenly, the bed that had before seemed so confining seemed nice and friendly. And suddenly, Neville felt very stupid for having taken a risk at all. Just as he was about to start walking in the opposite direction to try to see if he got anywhere, a wind ruffled his hair and he felt his skin pebble with gooseflesh. It got very cold before everything seemed to still again. Standing before him was Harry Potter, looking a bit perplexed.

Neville was very surprised to see him at this time of night and...what was he doing fully dressed? Harry was not in nightclothes, like Neville was, but dressed in robes with...a badge on them? Neville took a step closer to Harry, frowning. Something was not right. Harry looked a bit taller and his glasses were odd. Not only that, but there was something different about his facial features. Neville was not the most observant, but people always commented on Harry's green eyes, "just like this mother's" and this Harry had distinctly hazel eyes. It was easy to see in the light from his wand. Why was Harry holding his wand poised in such a way, looking around with an expression like he was about to curse someone into oblivion? This would have been the most fire that Neville would have seen in him all year. Sixth year had seen Harry Potter to by moody and somewhat withdrawn. This Harry looked as if someone had just yanked him from a wizard's duel...and he was disappointed about it.

"Where is he?" Harry demanded, eyes barely meeting Neville's as he looked around, brow crinkling slightly.

"W-Who?" Neville stammered, looking cautiously over his shoulder, suddenly feeling very paranoid. He shouldn't have gotten up at all. He opened his mouth to question Harry, about to ask questions about, well, his eye color for one. Was it some sort of prank from Zonko's? It didn't sound like Harry to do that sort of thing, though.

"Snivelly."

"What?" Neville asked, "Harry, maybe you should go to bed. It is kind of late and well..." He had just read what was on Harry's badge. It read 'Head Boy'. Neville looked up into the no longer green eyes of Harry Potter and gave him a very odd look. He was somewhat surprised to see the look returned.

"What did you call me?" Harry asked slowly.

"Harry, Harry."

"I don't know where you got that from, mate." Harry, er, well...whoever, said, shaking his head, "James Potter. Captain of the Quidditch team? Head-?"

Neville stopped the boy halfway through his speech. Har—er, James, had been speaking slowly, as if Neville were some sort of loony. It was clear that everyone knew who he was, or at least, that's what he thought until this very moment. It took a moment for it all to click in Neville's mind. _James? James POTTER? _Neville gawked at him for a moment before shaking his head slowly, in nearly perfect imitation of what this Harry had done before.

"Harry, maybe you really should get some sleep. Or, better yet, we could take you to Madame Pomfrey. She'll know what to do." Neville was becoming scared. Sure, Harry had been through some bad stuff in his lifetime, but Neville had always thought of him as _sane. _It never occurred to him that his friend might one day...crack. I mean, to walk around in the middle of the night and claim to be your long-dead father? But it was kind of weird. The eyes, the badge and all.

Harry looked like he was about to respond, but Mrs. Norris appeared in front of them, taking them in with her lamp-like eyes, before disappearing to find Filch. Neville gasped slightly and tugged on Harry's robes to pull him forward, away from the trouble, but Harry was quicker. He snatched Neville into the room nearby. Neville frowned slightly. He hadn't thought there was a door there a moment before...

"Harry, where are we?" He whispered. It was dark and he found himself wishing for light. Suddenly, the room was lit with the fire from a fireplace that hadn't been there a moment before. Neville blinked, thoroughly spooked.

"Blimey, would you not call me that?" Harry asked irritably, "_James_. James Potter. I-"

He stopped and frowned, taking in the colors of the pajamas that Neville sported. Neville found himself blushing slightly, but a moment later, realized Harry's purpose.

"Red and gold. Gryffindor." Harry said. Neville looked at him as if he were loony again, "Then I should have met you before." Harry began to pace as Neville watched him nervously. He was tempted to dart out of the room and fetch Madame Pomfrey. _Harry and I have been in Gryffindor together since first year...He really must be out of his mind._

"Is this about--?" But he didn't get to finish his question before Harry began muttering aloud.

"The last thing I remember is that git hexing me..." Neville nearly sighed with relief at this proclamation.

"Oh good! Then your memory should be back soon." He exclaimed, "I thought that you had gone mad." He laughed slightly nervously, watching Harry's expression. Dawning comprehension was filling out the boy's features.

"Mrs. Norris looked scrawnier and...old. There is someone around my age that does not know who I am and thinks I'm a loony." Harry muttered and stopped, fixing Neville with an intense look, "What year is this?"

Neville told him.

"Bloody HECK!" Harry bellowed. But a calculating look came over his face after that initial reaction. Neville watched him, at loss for what to do. In his mind, Harry had obviously lost his memory or was disillusioned from a wizard's duel. When Harry turned to Neville again, Neville had almost decided on a particular course of action.

"Is Dumbledore still Headmaster?" Harry asked finally.

"You must be worse than I thought!"

"So, yes?" Harry asked with an edge of impatience. It was clear that he didn't think too much of Neville's mental capacity.

"Erm, yes." At Neville's admission, Harry strode off through the door, leaving Neville alone and foolish in the strange little room. _Maybe I should follow him, just to make sure he's alright..._But by the time Neville opened the door, Harry was out of sight.


	3. Keeping the Balance

JKR owns these characters. Review if you read, please! I need to know what you think so that I can be motivated to write more. Oh, by the way, let me know if any of you reviewers are James fans, too. .

Albus Dumbledore, perhaps one of the world's most revered wizards, steepled his fingers on his desk and listened patiently to the portrait of Professor Dippet, his predecessor, as he talked.

"In my day, students were never out after hours. Walking after hours...no, not even the bravest Gryffindor would have DARED..." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled from behind his half-moon spectacles as he reflected that perhaps the reason for that was the Chamber of Secrets incident.

"...Though I have to say, Dumbledore, you have run this place very well. Couldn't be prouder, in fact. I'm glad to have you back." The various other portraits of previous Headmasters all nodded vigorously in agreement, saying things like, "That awful Umbridge woman," and "The school is better with you, Albus".

"Thank you all very much." Dumbledore said, but any further attempts at late-night conversations with the Headmasters were paused when a great commotion was heard from outside of his office. The current Headmaster was up in an instant, down the stairs and had opened the door to see young Potter standing in front of the gargoyle, looking quite impish and perhaps a bit guilty. A single specimen of one of Filibuster's finest, though a rather rustic version, Dumbledore noted, was shorting the last of its sparks, which made loud popping noises when they faded. Those hadn't been popular for a while.

"Sorry, professor." Potter said, "The gargoyle wouldn't let me through." Dumbledore moved his gaze from the firework to Harry. He looked at Harry as if really seeing him for the first time and just barely had the self-control not to start. It wasn't Harry. No, this Potter had a longer nose, hazel eyes, was slightly taller and had a Head Boy badge gleaming on his robes. This Potter hadn't been seen alive for nearly seventeen years. Dumbledore recognized him instantly; he had been a great mischief-maker, but a brilliant student. His only equal in his time had been a young Sirius Black.

"James?" Dumbledore said, "I think that you had better step into my office." The boy, obviously relieved that he wasn't in trouble for the 3 AM racket, followed Dumbledore up the stairs and into the spacious office. Fawkes called a greeting instantly, causing a grin to take young James Potter's face. Dumbledore watched this as he took a seat behind his desk.

"As much of a pleasure it is to see you, James, how did you get here?" Dumbledore asked him promptly.

"Well, the last I remember was Sniv—er, Severus Snape and I hexing each other. I used a gagging hex and then...he tried to curse me, but he was still gagging and..." James said unflinchingly. Dumbledore had to applaud his bravery. Admitting to a wizard's duel was definite grounds for detention. But clearly, James was aware that this was the future and therefore feared no punishments.

"Ah, so it may have been garbled." Dumbledore completed. James nodded. There was a brief silence and then—

"Am I going to get to meet myself? Am I an Auror? Am I married? Do I have kids?" James looked intrigued. Dumbledore's heart hurt with sympathy for the boy. He was looking at the apparition of the past, the past that had been dead for seventeen years.

"I don't know how your knowing will affect the past, so perhaps it is wiser that I don't speak of it. While I consult with the staff about what action would be most appropriate to transport you back, I think that I'll let you sleep with the Hufflepuffs-"

"I don't know, professor, I have a girlfriend and Hufflepuffs have never been my type..." James said with that familiar rakish grin that Dumbledore remembered so well. _Imagine what Harry would do, seeing his dead father in the flesh. With Sirius's passing, the trauma might be too much for him, especially after he realizes what he lost. _Dumbledore thought, _I can't allow Harry and James to meet while James is here. It wouldn't be fair to Harry. _There was also the matter of affecting the past. Dumbledore knew that it would be difficult for Harry to hide James's future from him and there was no telling what sort of impact James's knowledge of his fate would have on the fate of the rest of the world. Aware that he was in a dodgy situation, Dumbledore decided that he would try to keep the two boys from meeting.

It was incredible how much alike they looked and yet how dissimilar their personalities were. James had certainly passed along his athleticism to his son, as well as his mop of unruly dark hair. It would have been nearly impossible to tell him apart from his son had they been standing side by side. But James was far more animated and lively; he obviously liked to have a good time. Harry had been through too much torment to be as light-hearted and carefree as James seemed. But even the laughing, fun loving Potter had his secrets. He had done a very good job at hiding his participation in Remus Lupin's monthly visits to the Shrieking Shack, even when he had been in Dumbledore's confidence. _I didn't even find out that he was an Animagus until after he died, _Dumbledore thought. James was brave and a good friend, traits that he passed down to his son. Dumbledore couldn't imagine the kind of change that would be inflicted upon James's younger self if he found out that he was destined to die young.

"Er, Professor?" James asked, cocking his head slightly. Dumbledore had obviously been looking right through him.

"I apologize, James. So, you would be willing to _dorm_ with the Hufflepuffs?"

"A question, professor?" At Dumbledore's nod, James asked the expected question, "I'm a Gryffindor, professor, so why Hufflepuff?"

"Hufflepuff has room for you, whereas we are short on beds this year in Gryffindor." The latter was true, though not the entire truth. It just wouldn't do for Dumbledore to say, 'James, I don't want you to meet your son, who will most likely tell you that you are dead and affect your character to the point where the present might be in danger'.

James wasn't ignorant to fall for that completely, but Dumbledore could tell that he accepted it as he changed the subject, "So, how long am I here?"

"There are different ways of getting you back to your time. The only issue at hand is your safety. Because of the unpredictability of the curse that young Severus used, it would be best to wait for at least a week to send you back." Dumbeldore explained. He wouldn't have James damaged. As he continued in his conversation with a person who didn't know that he was supposed to be dead, Dumbledore once again reflected on how precarious this entire situation was. The key was keeping everything balanced just so. _James Potter, welcome to the future. _


	4. Another Potter

Not my charries; copyrighted to JKR. Thank you so much for all of the reviews so far! I really appreciate all of the positive feedback. You have no idea how fun this has been for me. Please, stay tuned for drama, action and tragedy coming up. I have a couple things planned that should be...interesting, to say in the least. And once again, I can't tell you enough: Review!

............

Hermione Granger stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand as she entered the library. Outside, the sky was just beginning to turn gray, the moon a pale wraith in the sky, banished by the crawling rays of the morning's sun. True, it was early, but Hermione wanted to thoroughly edit her Potions essay. The class had gotten noticeably more difficult, now that it was at NEWT level. It wasn't anything she couldn't handle, though she had to whip Harry into shape occasionally. He had just barely managed to get into the class by the skin of his teeth, much to Professor Snape's disgust. Ron hadn't managed to get in, along with most of the rest of the class. She sighed irritably, knowing that if she didn't revise parts of her essay, then the professor would find reasons to take off points. Madame Pince nodded at her as she passed by and Hermione returned the gesture, heading for the back tables. She stopped, however, along the way, when she heard a familiar voice.

"...look, mate, I know my way around Hogwarts." The voice was Harry's. Hermione turned around and walked towards the doors she had just come into. Harry was facing the door, talking to Ernie Macmillan.

"I thought you said that you weren't aware that Hogwarts had a library." Ernie said in his usual stiff, formal tones.

"I was being _sarcastic._" Harry replied exasperatedly, "If I had known that joking with you would enlist me on this guided tour, then maybe I would have thought better of it."

Hermione frowned slightly. That didn't sound like Harry at all. Ernie, however, had spotted her from over Harry's shoulder and said, "Hello, Hermione." Compelled to join the conversation by this salutation, she walked over to the pair of them. Harry turned to see who it was that Ernie was talking to and Hermione blinked. It wasn't Harry, but it sure looked like him. Everything about this boy looked familiar, except for the mischievous hazel eyes and slightly longer nose. It looked as if it may have been broken at one point, but it only served to make him look more devious.

"Hullo Ernie and...?" She looked pointedly at the boy, who willingly supplied his name, "James." He appeared to be about to say something else, but clearly thought better of it.

"Hermione Granger." She replied, shaking his hand, "New student?"

"Yes," Ernie replied importantly, "I've been instructed to show him around." James muttered something under his breath, but it was impossible to tell what. Clearly, he wasn't enjoying his current location. Hermione couldn't help but staring at him. He looked spookily like Harry. It couldn't be just a coincidence! _And his name is _James_, of all things? It's like a sick joke, _Hermione thought.

"Stricken by my good looks? Happens pretty often. I guess I'm just used to it by now." James said with a long-suffering sigh. Hermione blushed slightly, realizing just how long she must have been staring at him.

"No, no...it's nothing like that—"She hurried to assure him.

"I just look a lot like one of your friends, right?" He recited, obviously having met someone who had told him so before.

"You _do_ look like Harry." Ernie commented as if just now aware.

"I sure hope this Harry fellow is a handsome bloke."

Hermione felt her mouth fall into a pensive frown. It was so odd to talk to James. It was like talking with a considerably more roguish, carefree Harry. Ever since Sirius had died, well...Harry had taken to moody periods and mentions of his godfather could either cause him to bestow a rare smile or perversely cause him to become angry and withdrawn. It was oddly refreshing to talk to James, but also disturbing. She couldn't shake the feeling of intimate familiarity. The name was just too odd.

"Has Dumbledore put you with the Hufflepuffs, then, James?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Only temporarily," Ernie answered for him, "Dumbledore said that he'll only be here for a week or so. His mother's an Auror and here for business, so he's here for however long her case lasts."

James grinned helplessly and shrugged his shoulders at Hermione, clearly just about to say the same thing. It was Harry's grin, the same grin that had been missing from her friend's face for months now.

"So, why are you here, Hermione?" Ernie asked, clearly trying to start a conversation.

"Oh, editing my Potions essay! I'd nearly forgotten!" Hermione said, eyes widening slightly. Her grip tightened around her parchment and paper slightly.

"That's a pity. I was just going to suggest that you could come with us on the tour of the school." Ernie said disappointedly.

"Yes, do join us, Hermione," James said in a boyishly earnest way that made Hermione think that she was being mocked or belittled, somehow, "Because James needs to know his way around Hogwarts. There's no possibility that he already knows where he's going."

"Your usage of third person is so thrilling that I'm compelled to come along." Hermione told James dryly. But her real reasons for going were obvious. She wanted to find out more about this _James._ He was connected to Harry, somehow, she knew. The name was cruel. Already, within her mind, she had decided to make sure that Harry would not meet this boy. Because Hermione knew that Harry would be reminded of a father that he would never have. There was no denying it. With the uncanny name of 'James' and the physical appearance, this new student surely bore many similarities to James _Potter_, who was long dead. _It's not possible that 'James' is James Potter, because Harry's father is dead. And even if he were still alive, he wouldn't be school age. But, at the same time, it can't be a coincidence._ The way that Hermione could see to learn more was to be with James, she concluded. Even though she still clutched quill, scroll and ink in her hand, she followed the two boys out of the library, nearly oblivious to her grip around the items.

"So, James, where did you transfer from?" Hermione asked brightly, trying to seem casual. After all, it wasn't as if she was interrogating him or something. She gave James a sideways glance, watching his expression for a flicker of franticness.

"Durmstrang." He replied, nonchalantly.

"A fine school, fine school." Ernie said approvingly.

"Do you know Viktor Krum by any chance?" Hermione asked, "I met him in my fourth year. He's a friend of mine." She continued to scrutinize him as Ernie showed James the entry hall and the main staircase.

"Krummy and I? We're _pals. _Of course I know him." James replied in scandalized tones. _Krummy? Who is he kidding? _Hermione couldn't help but be amused.

"Hermione, which is it—the tenth or the eighth stair that vanishes?" Ernie asked at that very moment.

"The eighth," she replied quickly to Ernie before continuing to (what she thought was discreetly) grill James, "And what year are you in?"

"Seventh." James replied droningly. Clearly, he was bored in their company. Hermione didn't really care. Perhaps the more bored he was, the freer he would be with his tongue. She decided to just spring the question on him suddenly.

"What's your last name?" There was an answering pause that was just long enough for Hermione to be satisfied. She wasn't just being paranoid; there really was something up here.

"Farmer." James said a little too late. Apparently, he knew that Hermione was now suspicious. He looked slightly irritated. Suddenly, he looked at Ernie, who was going on about, "Showing you the Great Hall—they serve EXCELLENT meals, truly."

"Maybe Hermione can show me if I can't manage to find it myself. Thank you for your time, but I think this tour is over." Ernie blinked at James's announcement, clearly affronted.

"Fine then. I suppose...I'll see you in the common room, later, then." Ernie said, sounding a trifle huffy. James watched him as he nearly flounced down the hall, shaking his head. He put his hand to his hair and mussed it absently. Hermione held her silence until he decided to stop ignoring her.

"So," He said finally, turning to her, "What's this about? Clearly, you think I'm lying."

"_Know."_

"Can't you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"James _Farmer?_" Hermione sniggered, "Come _ON!"_ As soon as she said it, however, his face stiffened as if he had been personally insulted.

"That is my name."

"Oh my...I, look, I'm really, really, erm—"But by then, James was grinning, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Joking, only joking." He reassured her. She shot him a withering look in return and would have crossed her arms if she hadn't still been carrying her essay. She sighed exasperatedly and finally asked, "So, what's your real last name?"

There was a pause and for a moment, his face was inscrutable. He seemed to be considering something, but what, it was impossible to tell. After a moment, he seemed to give up. So, he looked at Hermione and said one simple word.

"Potter."


	5. Green Eyes

Alright, I see we have another James fan! Give it up for **Kioko**! Anyone who loves James deserves special recognition. There are so many Remus and Sirius fans out there, but not nearly enough Jimmy ones. Anyway, be patient, readers. Yes, I know there are a lot of introductions and descriptions, but I have good stuff planned. Continue to review and hunt for mistakes. And once again, I can't thank all of you enough!

...............

Harry sighed softly and opened his eyes, squinting against the bit of light that had managed to get in through a crack in his bed draperies. He had a headache and felt irritable. It wasn't surprising, as he hadn't slept a lot last night. He continually awoke every few hours, when his scar would twinge uncomfortably or dreams would wake him. Frowning, he realized that he couldn't recall a single one of those dreams, though he remembered having them. He sat up and rubbed his temples, hoping to ease the dull ache, before peeling back the draperies and blinking in the golden sunlight that bathed the dorm room at this hour in the morning. Someone had left the curtains open the previous night, he observed, before looking around at his things. His bedside table was becoming messy; bits of crumpled parchment, quills of different feathers, half-used inkbottles, books and odds and ends of all sorts littered it. _Hermione would have a cow, _he thought, reaching out and placing his glasses on his nose. At once, everything leapt into clearer focus, revealing the greater mess on Ron's bedside table. _Hermione would have a beluga. _He thought and briefly grinned before it was swallowed in the throbbing of his head.

"Harry?" There was an uncertain voice from behind him, so Harry turned to see Neville, who looked strangely hesitant. He looked as if he had just woken up too, with bed-creases on his face and his pajamas still on.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" Harry stared at him for a moment. Neville was looking at him as if expecting him to crack at any moment. He also looked slightly frightened. Harry frowned at him slightly. _What did I do? _He wondered resignedly. Did he do something in his sleep?

"Yeah...why?" Harry responded slowly.

"Your eyes are green." Neville sounded relieved.

Harry raised his eyebrows, about to ask if _he_ was alright, when a tired, grumpy voice said from behind them, "You're a little slow, mate, if you're just now figuring that out." Neville's cheeks colored as Ron parted his bed hangings. His eyes were still half-shut and he didn't look too pleased with either of them. Clearly, their talking had roused him from his sleep.

"Last night they weren't," mumbled Neville.

"I didn't think you drank firewhiskey, Neville." Ron said, stumbling out of bed.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked Neville, still frowning thoughtfully.

"Last night, I-I couldn't sleep...so I walked around in the corridors. I got lost and then it became all windy and you were standing there. You looked...taller. Your eyes weren't green and you had on a Head Boy badge."

"Now you're sounding like Trelawney. You reckon you saw Harry as Head Boy?" Ron asked while dressing himself. Clearly, by his skeptical tone, he didn't believe a word of it.

"No, Trelawney would say that I was about to snuff it." Harry said, still watching Neville. He was looking more and more confused by the moment, "You probably dreamed it. I have a lot of realistic..." Harry trailed off and turned away from Neville, using the excuse of getting dressed for his sudden preoccupation. There was a heavy, embarrassed silence in the room suddenly. _Stupid, stupid of me. Of course they know that I've had realistic dreams before—I nearly killed Ron's dad in one of them! _He had stopped having Voldemort's dreams for a while now. After learning what kind of danger that sort of connection with the Dark Lord was, not only to himself, but also to loved ones, he and Snape's little sessions had been a lot more productive. _Sirius...I wish I could have only listened. I wish I would have..._ He stopped himself there, refusing to think of it any further. Instead, he busied himself with his clothing, pulling his head through his robes and throwing on a scarf over them.

Neville left a little before Ron and Harry did, still looking doubtful. Harry watched him as he left, wondering if it really had been a dream. But how was that possible? Was an older version of himself running around? It was possible, yes; Hermione and his adventure with the Time-Turner in his third year proved that. But, it was also highly unlikely. Harry's future self would know just as he did now that it was a bad idea to risk running into one's past self. So, in the future, if he had any reason to use a Time-Turner, Harry doubted he would use it to return to his sixth year at Hogwarts. _No, Neville _must_ have been dreaming. _

"Coming, Harry?" Ron asked as he headed for the door. Harry wasn't hungry, but he wouldn't tell Ron that. If he told Ron about his loss of appetite, he would most likely tell Hermione. Then, the girl wouldn't leave him alone about it. Hermione was like an extension of Mrs. Weasley to both boys sometimes; she would bully them into doing what she thought was 'best' for them. Like homework.

"Yeah," Harry replied, glancing momentarily at a picture he recently had framed for his bedside table. It was the only picture there, amidst the mess. It was a picture of a smiling man with untidy dark hair, a beautiful woman with eyes like his and a handsome, jovial best man that now only existed in the past, "Coming." He turned and walked away, towards the door, where Ron waited.


	6. Foaming at the Mouth

Alright, hopefully this chapter will turn out to be a good one. This and the next one are ones that I have been thinking on for a while. It's time to have some fun. So, sit back and enjoy. Please, review. I can't emphasize enough how much I need to hear the opinions and thoughts of readers. Suggestions, criticisms, praises and general comments are more than welcome. And to all of you faithful reviewers, thank you so much.

...............

A blend of surprise and guardedness came over Hermione's features before the surprise gradually gave way. This only served to make James even more suspicious. _Am I well known in this time? Is there something about me that everyone here knows? _Even if he wanted to know, he could not read it in Hermione's face. She didn't say anything in response, only looked at him. At first, she had seemed shocked and...angry? Had she been angry? Did she think he was joking again? He had decided to tell her his last name for a few reasons. For one, he couldn't think how it would affect his time in any way. He was also quite certain that she would have badgered him about it until he wished that he were dead. But, the main reason was that he wanted to know what had happened to him. This Harry chap that everyone kept mentioning—was he related to James in his future? _Obviously, _James thought, _maybe I have a son. _Now, that was a weird thought. _But it's possible, _he reminded himself. He would be the right age to be a father to a boy his own age in this time. Dumbledore had said it was better for him not to find out. _I wonder how long it'll take for my curiosity to get the better of me. _

"So, do you know who I am?" _About five seconds, _he thought amusedly. He trusted Dumbledore. If the man said that he shouldn't know about his future, he wasn't going to seek it out. _Not openly, at least. _James was a troublemaker at heart...and also extremely nosy. However much he liked, trusted and honored Dumbledore, nothing could stop him from being himself. He would never admit just how impatiently he waited for Hermione to answer his question.

"Yes," She said evenly, "I do." She was watching him warily and then asked, before any of his questions could be heard, "Does Dumbledore know you're here?" She looked faintly reproving. The expression on her face reminded him a lot of Lily, when she was about to start lecturing him about the duties and responsibilities of being Head Boy. Or about his immaturity. Or his still-abiding love for pranks, or his tendency to still get detentions, maintaining his record of Most Detentions Served Ever by a Single Student (closely followed by Sirius, of course). Or about a thousand other things that she found character flaws in him. Remus often commented that for once, he was glad that James had a big head. Sirius was always quick to defend him with his comment that, 'His head isn't big...it's just slightly oblong'. For a moment, James missed them horribly. _Blimey! I must be mad! _He was quick to think. After all, he was in a different time and that meant that there was that much more mischief that he could get into. His friends wouldn't begrudge him the time away if he had caused sufficient mayhem along the way. _Mayhem it is!_

"Yes. So, how do you know about me? Well, other than me being voted Witch Weekly's the Minister of Magic with the Sexiest—"

"If you've already seen Dumbledore, then most likely he has told you that it isn't a good idea for you to find out about your future, am I right?"

James deflated slightly, "Smart girl." He reached up and raked a hand through his thick shock of messy black hair. What once had been intentional had now transformed into a habit. James's hand found his hair when he was showing off, yes, but also when he was stressed or confounded.

"Well," she said briskly, "it only makes sense, doesn't it? If you found out about your future, it might somehow affect our time. And there's no telling how many other things might be subtlety altered in the process. Really quite simple." She sounded like a walking encyclopedia and was obviously not used to having people understand her.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" James asked, shrugging off her previous statement.

"And where's your sense?" Hermione shot back, "Something serious could happen, something _bad_, if you don't forget this foolishness." She crossed her arms and watched James from underneath that bushy mop of hair as if waiting for him to comply.

"But something good could happen, too. There's no assurance—"

"Would you really take that risk? Maybe you should think things through instead of rushing into them." There was some steam in this last statement, but it didn't seem like she was talking to him, really. This looked like something that had festered for a while. After all, he doubted that she knew him well enough to know that the above mentioned _was_ one of his flaws. _If she knew me as an adult, she would have recognized me right away, _he reasoned. _...but how did she know about--?_ Remus often accused him of being reckless. He and Sirius both shared this fault, just as they had shared many a night's detention together as punishment. But Hermione _couldn't_ know that about him, unless she was just making judgments at face value. _Face value, _he thought suddenly.

"Are you talking to me or to this Harry bloke?" James demanded. That subdued her. The angry color left her face and she blinked a few times, only solidifying James's suspicions. She looked at him for a couple of minutes and an odd expression came over her face. He was quite sure that Hermione looked like she was about to laugh.

"I'm sorry." He nodded coolly, letting his hand fall from his hair. It retained its messiness, standing up in all directions around his head. James never attempted to flatten it or make it behave, because it wouldn't. The sky was blue, the grass was green and James Potter's hair would never cooperate. His philosophy was that if you couldn't change it, then don't sweat it. _Is that really my philosophy? _He wondered. After all, he was in a different time and Dumbledore had made it clear that he shouldn't seek out his current stasis. So, why was he still sweating it? _Because I hate not knowing, _he answered himself.

While he was thinking on this, he didn't pay attention to Hermione, who was standing in front of him, shifting on her feet. Clearly, she thought his lack of chatter meant that he was still angry with her for her outburst. Before James could correct her on that point, she opened her mouth and said, "It's breakfast time. I should really be going. I have an entire Potions essay to edit!" On the last note, her eyes widened and she hurried away in a blur of frizzy hair and moving robes. Before she could get too far, however, she was intercepted.

"Running from Potter, now, are we, Granger?" The voice was drawling with an almost bored tone to it. James looked to face a boy who was wearing Slytherin colors and who had a pointed, pale face with blond hair that was slicked back.

"I can't say I blame you," The boy continued, stepping around Hermione to come closer to James. Behind him were two burly boys who also wore the green of Slytherin. The boy looked very familiar, James decided. He could have sworn that in past years, he had seen that very pale face and blond hair before. _He looks just like Lucius, _James realized, _...and so another generation of gits is born, _"after all, he is hideous." Lucius had graduated quite a while back, but when he was in school, he had been no friend of James's.

Hermione was shaking her head from behind Lucius Malfoy's son's back, clearly warning James off of him. James only responded with his trademark cocky grin. His stature was suddenly all unimpressed, unhurried, rumpled grace. His hand went into his pocket and out came his wand, leaping from finger to finger as he absently twirled it.

"So, what does that make you? Frogspawn that a troll sat on?"

"Cocky, today, aren't you, Potter? That's funny. I would think that you would be off boo-hooing. It seems like you've been doing a lot of that lately, doesn't it?" Malfoy pantomimed crying melodramatically, causing his two cronies to start laughing in deep, rasping tones from behind him.

"The only reason I would be crying is because I saw your face." James calmly responded, lifting one eyebrow. He distinctly heard Hermione moan before Malfoy's wand was out, just as James expected. He was too quick for this pale boy, too smart. Whereas he was a rival for Harry, he was merely an annoyance to James.

"Engorgio!" James cried, before Malfoy even managed to point his wand in James's direction. With quicker reflexes than James had anticipated, however, he managed to dodge a direct hit by jumping aside quickly. Now, only Malfoy's left arm was bloated, causing him to tilt slightly in that direction to favor his now-heavy arm. He wasn't slow about retaliating.

"Scourgify!" Malfoy called. James was hit in the face with soapy water from the end of the boy's wand. He shook out his hair and blinked a few times, laughing.

"What are you trying to do, clean me to death?"

"I guess it didn't work." Malfoy sighed, "I guess Mudblood stains run deep." James's eyes widened and he grit his teeth together calling out a quick, "Protego," to deflect Malfoy's attempt at a Jelly Legs hex. He then jumped on Malfoy bodily ("No!" From Hermione), using the element of surprise to successfully tackle him to the ground, prying his mouth open.

"Scourgify," James muttered as soapy water came out of his wand, "Doesn't your mum ever wash your mouth out?" Malfoy was now looking James right in the eye, but couldn't speak or utter a curse because his mouth was brimming with pink-tinted, lemon-scented foam. Bubbles gently floated above their heads. Malfoy spat bubbles and soap all over James, coughing and choking, trying to hex James all the while. James was trying to wrestle Malfoy's wand out of his grip when a dark shadow was cast over their brawl. Malfoy stilled and James heard Hermione gasp in the background before he lifted his head and looked up.


	7. Flicker

Yes, I know. It was evil and cruel for me to leave you hanging like that. Well, I don't care. It'll only make you all the more eager to read this chapter, right? Of course. Which is why you are probably thinking, "Shut up already, and begin the chapter". I will do so shortly after saying: JKR's characters are not mine and thank you for all of the reviews thus so far. We're now in the double digits, woo-hoo! Please, tell your friends to read and review and if you read, I certainly hope you are reviewing. Well, take a deep breath and get ready for this chapter. Enjoy.

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He was in a particularly foul mood today, as Peeves seemed to have ransacked his office again. He was thinking up several different ways to curse at the poltergeist when he strolled down the corridor, ready for a meal at the Great Hall. He would talk to Dumbledore about it at this 'staff meeting' they would have after breakfast. _Just wait until the Bloody Baron gets wind of this..._He thought with a savage sort of pleasure. He supposed the real reason for his mood was not just the pranking poltergeist. Last night, he had awoken with the Dark Mark etched on his forearm twinging. He was still doing undercover work occasionally, but he did not fool himself. The Dark Lord, if he hadn't already, would figure him out. He hated to think of the price he would pay. It haunted him, day after day, moment after moment. But he never regretted joining the Order and forsaking his evil ways. If there was one thing that he believed in, it was this choice. His redemption.

Severus Snape turned the corner and stopped, seeing a brawl going on up ahead. The Malfoy boy and...Potter. The professor drew nearer to the scene and Malfoy saw him and stopped his combating. Hermione Granger and Crabbe and Goyle were all watching him, Granger with a sort of horror on her face, the other two with expressions of identical blankness. He didn't care. As if the young Potter boy were a Portkey, he was suddenly transported into memories that he thought long forgotten.

_"Wash your mouth," Potter had said then, just as he had said to Malfoy a few minutes ago. There was no cruelness in his eyes. To him, this was all a joke, all another one of his stupid pranks. Tease and taunt 'Snivelly', because he first taunted you. Because the git was involved in Dark Arts and they both knew it. Use all of your popularity and athleticism against this pathetic, pale Slytherin student who had none of that, but hated you. Potter. James Potter. _Flicker. _"No! You've...got...to...trust...me..." The same voice, but no hint of a joke. There was raw fear in his eyes, in his voice. But Snape was not struggling now. He had seen the horror that this dark-haired, bespectacled boy had just saved him from. He allowed James Potter to pull him from the Whomping Willow, terrible, horrified fear twisting his face, tears gathering in his eyes. He had been so close to death, so close to being torn apart by...a werewolf. Remus Lupin. James was practically dragging him now, across the lawn. He was so stiff. He couldn't move. He had almost died. He would have died, had it not been for...James Potter. He wrenched free of James's grip and spat in his face. "I don't need your help, Potter." And he ran. _Flicker. _James's speech at the graduation as Head Boy, the highest position a seventh-year could have. He had been awarded for his bravery in saving Snape as well. Everyone's golden boy, standing there in front of the crowd of students, teachers and parents. Making them laugh, smile and cry as he stood there, head down, determinedly not looking up to see the face of his rival. His rival who had ultimately won that battle beneath the tree. _Flicker. _That same golden boy vanquished by the Dark Lord he had once served. He was dead, killed with his wife, only his baby boy surviving the attack. And then...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone. As vanquished as the fallen body of James Potter, or so everyone believed. Snape knew that Voldemort would return, but did not think the same of James. His funeral was held and no one would ever know that he stood in the very back, face hidden, but eyes watching. _I hate you, James Potter, _he had thought, _and I always will.

"Professor, he attacked me. He went mad and just jumped on me, didn't he?" Draco was saying. Snape managed to snap back to reality as Crabbe and Goyle both grunted agreement.

"He did not, Professor!" Granger said, striding up to them, "They called me a...a...Mudblood. And he was only defending—"Snape did not hear the rest. James Potter had just looked up and met his eyes. His dark eyes with James's distinctly _hazel_ eyes. They weren't green, they were _hazel. _Snape was still for a moment, letting Draco and Hermione's argument wash over him as he and James stared, just stared at one another. _He's back. But how can it...? What...?_ It was too much for his mind to process. He didn't even stop to think that if James had truly returned, he would have returned as a full-grown man, a father to the Potter boy. In Snape's mind, James Potter was always a boy, a taunting, hateful boy that he'd rather forget. He was the past. And the past was back.

"Shut up," He said slowly, in a dangerous tone of voice. Draco and Hermione instantly silenced, both now watching James and Snape staring at each other. Draco looked puzzled and Hermione suddenly realized _why._ After a moment, James broke the stare by standing up and brushing himself off, an eyebrow cocked as he looked over at Snape.

"As ugly as ever, aren't you?" He said finally, "Or uglier, if possible." Hermione gasped and said, "Please, Professor, don't—"

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest that the two of you have something else to do. And quickly." Was Snape's only reply.

"But—"

"_NOW!"_ With that, both of them, Crabbe and Goyle following, ran down the hallway, not looking back. Snape struggled to maintain his coolness, his calmness, but it was gone. He was thoroughly spooked and _angry._ What business did Potter have, coming back to haunt him? Why couldn't he just leave him _alone_? Losing the battle of self-control, he stalked towards James and grabbed the front of his robes.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed, "Is this some sort of sick _prank?_ Do you find it AMUSING to torture me, even now?" Snape was shaking, quaking with rage that was more fear than he would have himself admit. James was solid. He was not a ghost. His grip tightened around the front of his robes. He was bigger than James, taller and stronger. He looked like just a boy. He could—_What, kill someone who's already dead?_ James looked thoroughly bewildered, despite his own attempts at coolness.

"I always knew you were mad." James said, finally. He struggled against Snape's hold on him, but Snape wouldn't let go. He thrashed some, experimentally, but Snape didn't waver. He sounded annoyed and exasperated, not frightened, when he asked, "Would you let me go already?"

"Answer me!" Snape barked. Common sense told him that something was up here; that James Potter couldn't have returned from the dead, especially as a seventeen-year-old boy, but he refused to listen. In a moment when he was weak, trying to be strong for his causes, this only further weakened him. The return of his mortal enemy, someone who he hated with every _fiber_ of his _being._ Someone who he used to know as well as he knew his best friend. Someone who was now virtually helpless in his hold, who had previously always had the upper hand.

"A bit big-headed, aren't you there, Snivelly? We must have had a falling-out for me to give you such a big scare. I have to say, your expression now will cheer me during dark hours." James spoke in the same light, humorous way he had always spoken, the way that had gained him so many friends, so many people who trusted him. Despite his words, however, he still struggled to loosen Snape's tight grip on him.

"Severus!" From down the hall came a shocked voice, an outraged voice that belonged to Minerva McGonagall. Snape dropped the boy promptly and none too gently. Eyes blazing with heat, he turned to face his co-worker.


	8. Stares and Glares

Whew! Intense last two chapters, I think. Thank you so much for reviews. Here are some specific comments I have in answer to two certain reviews I got:

Kioko- Great guess; It was Snape. I hope that it met your expectations in the 'delicious' factor.

Angel Horse- You'll just have to stick around and see if Harry and James meet. I still have quite a bit planned for this little fic.

Anyway, JKR's characters aren't mine. Reviewer's poll: Favorite line in the entire story thus so far? Read and review; make sure to include your answer!

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Minerva McGonagall had never before seen her colleague, Severus Snape, so angry. But then, she was hardly ever so indignant. She had rounded the corner on her way to the Great Hall, only to find him assaulting a student! The Potter boy, no less! McGonagall knew that Snape had no great liking for the boy, but this was clearly overstepping the tangible line between distant disdain and outright abuse. _And with all of the hardship Potter has been dealing with lately, he would do better to let the boy alone! _She drew closer to the two, robes lapping around her ankles, lips pressed into a firm line of disapproval. _Severus has a nasty temper, yes, but this is outrageous! _And usually, Snape had cool anger—anger that didn't grab a hold of him, but that he controlled.

Finally, she halted before Snape, frowning as she caught hold of his livid, dark eyes. They seemed to blaze like burning coals, with a hatred that McGonagall could never understand. His eyes were not on her, but on the boy that he had just released. The Transfiguration professor moved her eyes to him. Potter was frowning and straightening his robes, making a great fuss about brushing dust off of them, as if Snape's touch had made him unclean. As he looked up at her, his eyes caught the light. There was a mischievous sparkle to them, a dancing hazel light, instead of the cold, piercing green that she was so used to seeing dwell there. Potter's eyes had been dead, dormant of cheer for some time now. It didn't take her long to realize why Snape was acting so irrationally, or why, suddenly, a feeling of nostalgia was swelling inside of her.

"_James_ Potter?" She vocalized, if not a trifle faintly. McGonagall stared for a moment, her expression much like Hermione's as the full truth and weight of the matter hit her. She was quick to follow up with, "Does the Headmaster know?" Her question was half-directed at Snape. The man didn't seem to hear her, but continued to watch James with his piercing augers.

"Professor! Jolly good to see you too." James said, somewhat wryly. McGonagall didn't attempt to exchange formalities, only waited impatiently for his answer. James had been a brilliant person, the Head Boy in his time, incredibly popular, athletic and most infamously, a prankster. _Had been._ Those two words echoed through her mind. Somehow, it appeared that James had been transported into the future, the future without him in it, from the past. McGonagall would guess that by his height and the way that he carried himself, he was in his sixth or seventh year, when he had finally started to take _some_ (if little) responsibility. Yes, Dumbledore would have to know that a sixteen-year-old or seventeen-year-old version of a boy that long dead was walking around Hogwarts.

"Yes," James answered finally, still under McGonagall's scrutiny, "You would have found out about it sometime today, had it not been for Snivelly's unexpected appearance."

"_Professor_ _Snape_, Potter." McGonagall said admonishingly, glancing at Snape. He had yet to say a word, whether in comment or in retaliation. McGonagall had not forgotten his and James's mutual animosity towards one another. She had not, however, known that James had called Snape by a nickname. Undoubtedly, he had not called Severus that name before McGonagall in previous years, knowing that retribution would be swift.

James turned his gaze upon Snape, looking absolutely shocked and horrified, "Who let _him_ become a—"

"Potter, I'm afraid that I'll have to stop you there, or I _will_ give you a detention, no matter what time this is." McGonagall said sternly. She regarded him for a moment before saying, "I suppose you should come with us, then. I expect Professor Dumbledore will want you along for this meeting." Once again, she looked at Severus, who still looked as if he had swallowed something particularly foul. She did not know the depth of his abhorrence for James, nor would she understand it. _James saved his life. He was always a pleasure to be around; perhaps a little immature and gutsy at times, but that doesn't explain why he should _hate_ James. _McGonagall had long thought it jealousy that poisoned Snape, an envy that had carried over to Harry, who looked nearly identical to his father, but was quite different in personality. Now, though, she was uncertain. The way that Snape was glowering suggested something quite fiercer...and certainly more enduring.

"Right-o." James said, sounding short of thrilled.

..............

"I knew he would be back!" Came a melodramatic voice, "My inner eye has long made such a phenomenon known to me." James turned in his chair to see a woman draped in a glittering shawl, with large glasses that magnified her eyes and multiple rings, bracelets and necklaces. He was reminded of a gaudy sort of insect. All of the professors had gathered in Dumbledore's office to confer about James's sudden appearance into the future. Some of them were familiar faces, but others were not so familiar. James didn't recognize the above mentioned professor, though guessed that she was the Divination professor. _'Inner eye', eh? _He thought humorously. The only person who had been completely silent on the matter was Snape, who only glowered at James venomously throughout the entire discussion.

Each professor's reaction had been different. Hagrid (who James was particularly pleased to see as a professor—_about time, _he had thought) had nearly crushed him into bone powder in an all-encompassing, surprisingly emotional hug. It had been impossible to squirm free. Professor Flitwick's eyes had widened and he squeaked slightly—a common reaction for the tiny little wizard when he was shocked, surprised or excited. Binns had wheezed, "Welcome back, Mr. Ponner," (clearly still unable to remember names correctly) in a way that had almost caused James's eyelids to droop in a Pavlovian fashion. Professor Sprout hadn't been too enthused to see James back at Hogwarts (James had the distinct impression that she still remembered the little 'troll' incident in the greenhouses so many years before). All of the other professors hadn't reacted as openly as these; these were the professors that had known James Potter during his stay at Hogwarts. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had only frowned slightly, looking rather puzzled.

"Would be back?" James repeated, frowning at the glittering apparition of a woman. She merely blinked at him, clearly not understanding what he was asking. He looked instead, then, to Dumbledore.

"Undoubtedly you did, Sibyll." The Headmaster only said to the Divination professor in a rather bland fashion. Thus so far, he had only waited patiently behind his desk for everyone to calm themselves; for the bustle to die down. Now that it finally seemed to be happening, he smiled around at all of them, "As you have seen, we have a highly unusual circumstance on our hands. Mr. Potter made his presence known to me last night, at around three o'clock in the morning, when he set off a firework in front of my office." There was a snort from one of the professors; clearly, James had gone down in Hogwarts history with quite the reputation. "He came into my office then, only to explain that he had been transported here by way of an awry curse."

Dumbledore paused here and looked at Snape, "Severus, according to Mr. Potter, it was you that hexed him. It would have been in the seventh year of your stay at Hogwarts. Do you have any recollection of it at all?" There was a slight silence for a moment.

"No," Snape replied finally, sneeringly, "He has to be lying. Perhaps to cover up theft of a Time-Turner or spell components." He seemed to be in better control of himself, James observed. It was not hard to tell that he had recently been thoroughly shaken, though.

"The Room of Requirement." James said, an expression of dislike unconsciously twisting his features as he spoke to his rival in what was nearly passable as a civil manner, "You walked in on me in the Room of Requirement. The room shifted to include a load of potions and things and I said, 'I'm guessing by the atmosphere that you came for a spot of tea and some crumpets'." Snape stared at the floor as James spoke, as if trying to ignore the fact that it was a bitter enemy that was speaking to him. He glared holes into the floor for a moment before nodding slightly and curtly.

"There was a wind and he was gone," Snape said to Dumbledore suddenly, talking about James as if he wasn't there, "but he must have come back."

"Do you remember what curse you used?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was tactful and subtle, James noticed. Clearly, he was trying to smooth things over here. He knew that James and Snape were enemies. Glancing up at Dumbledore, James frowned. _I will never know why he made that _git_ a professor. _

"No," said Snape so promptly that James was certain he was lying. Dumbledore only nodded thoughtfully, looking around at the other professors. After a brief pause, he rested his gaze on James, who met his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, if you would excuse us, please?"

"Yes, professor." James said reluctantly, curious in spite of himself. _I wish I had my invisibility cloak with me..._He thought regretfully. He stood and turned to leave, feeling many pairs of eyes following him out.

"Oh, and James?" James turned as Dumbledore added, "Try to keep your nose clean...and remain as unobtrusive as possible until we can safely get you home." His tone left no room for joking, so James quickly agreed before leaving. One glance over his shoulder before he left the office showed Snivelly to be watching him with a loathing that James could nearly feel. James returned the stare before turning the doorknob and walking out.


	9. Falling Down

Yes, I know the last chapter was slow; thanks for bearing with me. I have some fun stuff planned ahead, so please do be patient. I know that some of these chapters may be a bit less exciting than others, but they're filled with necessary developments. But really, only one answer to the reviewer's poll? Oh well. I guess that's the last time I try that bit. Anyway, JKR's charries aren't mine, so onward!

................

Ron yawned widely and stretched, feeling cramped muscles pop with the movement. He then rubbed his eyes blearily, casting an eye upwards at the top of his bed. He could hear rustling sounds; they were muted, but he could hear them all the same. Maybe Harry was up. Yesterday had dragged by, slow and monotonous. Harry was quiet a lot lately, eyes unfocused as if constantly thinking. He had changed drastically from the first-year that Ron had known, but Ron was his friend either way. Hermione usually provided conversation when Harry would not, but yesterday, he had not seen a lot of her. If he didn't know better, he would think that she was avoiding him, possibly Harry, too. All yesterday, she had slipped into her classes with only minutes left before she was late and she was the first person out of every class, as if rushing off to do something. It was funny; Ron hadn't remembered making her angry.

As he continued to listen, the rustling got louder and there were a few _thump_s and _thud_s. Voices petered in through the thick fabric of his bed hangings. He heard Seamus Finnigan ask, "Harry, what are you doing?" Harry's voice in return wasn't addressing the question, "Neville, stop looking at me like that. I haven't gone mad." He sounded distinctly frustrated and maybe even a bit miffed about something. Dean didn't join in the conversation, most likely because he was still asleep. The boy could sleep through a hurricane and a thousand wizards' duels. Ron parted his curtains and stumbled through them, tripping slightly and nearly falling. He collided with Harry, who wasn't expecting the sudden assault. As a result, both of them tumbled to the ground, each struggling to get up, but only getting tangled more. There was a sudden tension when Harry finally managed to get free of Ron. Seamus was grinning uncertainly and Neville's eyes were bulging.

"Sorry about that," Ron said, getting to his feet finally, watching Harry's face. What happened next surprised him. Harry began to laugh suddenly and with a gusto that suddenly loosened something inside of Ron that he hadn't realized he had been tightening. It wasn't even that funny, but he found himself laughing right along with his best mate, belatedly joined by Seamus's chuckling laugh and Neville's nervous-sounding one. For a moment or so, the room was filled with laughter, most of the sound coming from Harry as he gripped at Ron's bed curtains to hold him up. Instead, however, they ripped, depositing Harry on the floor, where he began laughing anew, holding a stitch in his side.

"Graceful," Ron snorted through his own fit of hysterics.

"You...you really s-should talk!" Harry retorted, barely able to choke the words out. It had been a good while since Ron had seen Harry's face look so alive, so mobile. It had been frozen in an expression of painful normalcy, as if he had been barring any from accessing what he felt, what he dealt with inwardly. _Blimey, it's good to see him like that. _Ron thought, immediately surprised by his own feelings. To say that it was a good thing to see Harry laugh, a rare thing, was bad in itself. Ron found that he soon stopped chortling, though Neville, Seamus and Harry were still laughing. Neville had attempted to help Harry up, but had accidentally been pulled to the ground. Tears streaked Seamus's face from laughing, pointing a shaking finger in Neville's direction.

"Oh, oh..." Seamus sobbed through his laughter, sinking down slowly to the floor. It took a moment for Ron to realize that he wasn't crying in mirth, the few tears that were shining on his face were genuine. Harry stopped, realizing it as well; Neville took a bit longer than Harry, who had suddenly turned his face towards Seamus.

"Alright there, mate?" Ron asked uncomfortably. Seamus's shoulders were shaking and his head had dropped into his hands.

"It's all hopeless, isn't it?" Seamus asked suddenly, lifting his head from his palms, staring at them with eyes that were now dry. Harry's face was still open, but this time with a sort Sure, there was awkwardness, but they were all feeling a bit awkward. Boys didn't cry. Sure, girls could boo-hoo all they wanted, but blokes couldn't go around bawling. It was just...disturbing. But Ron was surprised to find that he felt much the same way at times. Seamus was expressing emotion that all of them probably secretly felt. Ron didn't meet his fellow Gryffindor's eyes. There was a heavy silence for a moment and then:

"It's never hopeless." It was Harry, looking directly at Seamus. He looked startled by his own words and then dropped his gaze, looking ponderously at his hands.

"How can you say that, how can you, after—"Seamus paused and stopped in mid-sentence; Ron had glared at him over Harry's shoulder. _What right does he have to talk like that? _He thought angrily, _after last year—accusing Harry of being mad!_

"Sirius died?" Harry asked bluntly. For the brief space of a moment, his eyes were hollow again. There was a sharp intake of breath from Neville, but Ron determinedly watched Harry's face. Seamus only nodded, looking apologetic, taking an apprehensive glance at Ron.

"I know that he died because there is hope. He died for that hope." Harry said slowly, "I...think that's why..." He trailed off, a small smile on his face. Ron furrowed a brow. He didn't really understand what Harry was trying to say...not yet. This time, Seamus's nod was slower in coming, but more certain. It was as if he understood something that Harry had said. He stood and Ron, looking at his friend, realized that Harry had just forgiven Seamus for last year. Neville followed suit, meeting eyes with Ron. Ron only shrugged and Neville grinned slightly, clearly relieved that he hadn't been the only one who didn't exactly understand the depth of Harry's words. _His parents are at St. Mungo's._ Ron recalled, _Were they tortured for hope? _Shaking out these cryptic thoughts, Ron watched Neville leave, soon followed by Seamus.

"Harry?" He asked concernedly, peering down at his mate, who hadn't moved from his position. Harry started and then grinned sheepishly. He stood quickly and Ron couldn't help but notice that something in his expression seemed to have lightened. He also noticed that Harry didn't look back at his picture before leaving the dormitories, side by side with Ron.

"So, what were you looking for, mate?" Ron asked finally, deciding to change the conversation. They descended the staircase and stepped into the spacious common room, where a fire was burning in the fireplace and several groups of Gryffindors were congregating before breakfast.

"The Marauder's Map," Harry said, frowning again, "I looked for it...and it wasn't where I left it." That didn't come as a great surprise to Ron, as Harry and he both were at total lack of organizational skills. _Could be with his underwear, for all he knows._ Ron thought.

"Probably just lost it. It'll turn up." Ron assured Harry confidently. Harry nodded and grinned at Ginny as she approached them.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."


	10. Close Brush

JKR's characters aren't mine, or I would be a millionaire and a best-selling author. Thank you all for your reviews, especially **Boredanddelirious**—I really appreciate your review and I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. And I ask all of you to be patient with me, as my schedule becomes more and more demanding and with the plotline, which will, inevitably, have its lulls before it swells. Now, enjoy!

..............

"James?" _Ugh, make it go away. _A little louder, "James?" _Five more minutes...please..._"James!" James sat up in bed and parted his curtains, glaring at the offender who had dared to wake him up. It was Ernie Macmillan, who at the moment, James would be most likely to call an, "insufferable prick" or "annoying git" in his irritability of the moment. Even his fellow marauders hardly ever dared to attempt to wake up James Potter before he willingly (and usually grumblingly) rolled out of bed.

"What?" He snapped peevishly, looking ready to draw the hangings back around his temporary bed if Ernie's reason for waking him up was something short of, "half of the world has exploded" or "we're under attack".

"It's almost time for breakfast and I thought you'd like to walk with me." Ernie replied simply. James took a deep breath and managed to scrounge up a fairly calm reply of, "No thank you," before hastily falling back into bed.

It seemed to be only five minutes later when the same voice said, "James?" _What is it _now"James?"

"What?!" James asked, parting the curtains again.

"We'll be late if you don't hurry." Ernie replied irritably, looking as if he would have rather left James. It seemed to James that he was never alone in the hallways. The rest of yesterday had been a nightmare—that Hermione girl had hounded him throughout the day, acting like she was a madwoman. She had consistently jerked him around corners suddenly, coming up with stupid excuses in a high-pitched, anxious voice. She had kept an annoyingly close watch on James all day, making it completely impossible for him to put a toe out of line. And for every moment that she was not with him, Ernie was quick to replace her, or some seventh-year with a slightly pop-eyed look that made him look constantly surprised. Of course, James wasn't stupid. All of these precautions, all of Hermione and Ernie's strange endeavors, were probably connected to this Harry fellow. That was another thing. He was insatiably curious about Harry—who was a close relative of his, maybe even his own son by the way it sounded. It was like having an itch between your shoulder blades that you just couldn't scratch. Well, if he had it his way, he would meet Harry and find out for himself. At this rate, though, it was looking impossible. _The more impossible, the more fun, _James thought, standing from his borrowed bed.

In a few whirlwind moments, he was ready and Ernie looked vaguely impressed. James took a quick glance in the mirror, grinned at himself and then messed up his jet-black hair out of habit.

"Ready?" Ernie asked.

"Oh...no...I have to...do something. Very pressing, really. So _frightfully _sorry-"

"Come on, let's go." Ernie said in an I'm-not-amused sort of voice. _He has no sense of humor whatsoever, _James thought sourly, following him out of the dormitories and into the Hufflepuff common room. Instead of everything being furnished in the scarlet of Gryffindor, everything in sight was yellow. It was really painful to look at, or so James thought. A couple sixth-year girls giggled at him as he walked by, removing his glasses in a would-be casual way, one with blond pigtails waving shyly. James shot her a charming smile before following Ernie out of the portrait hole. Normally, he would have recited his numerous Quidditch feats to her, but he was really on a tight schedule with Czar Ernie I dragging him along. That and he didn't play Quidditch in this day and age. _A depressing thought, that._

"Today, you have History of Magic, Herbology and Arithmancy." Ernie told him, "I will escort you to your classes." Ernie sounded almost totally disinterested in what he was saying, as if he were rattling off facts and figures to be surveyed. As they walked along the corridor to the Great Hall, James mentally began plotting out a schedule of pranks.

He wasn't to know, however, that coming in the opposite direction was a boy who looked much like him, save for bright green eyes. Harry was accompanied by Ron, Ginny and Neville and all three were talking about the Daily Prophet. Four Muggles killed in a Death-Eater attack, along with an Auror. Things were looking pretty grim right now, but Harry looked less deadened than usual. Who would have known that it would take helping someone else to help himself? If he had known that, he would have done it a long time ago. Sirius was constantly there: the lump in his throat, the burning in his eyes, the dryness of mouth... But he was also the mischievous smile on a second-year's face, the anonymous prank and the Labrador retriever that wagged his tail as it walked down the street. He had come to realize this all over again. For weeks, months, he hadn't smiled at all. The leap from an unsmiling face and a slight, wistful smile was a longer leap than any of his friends could have realized.

"I wish Fred and George were still here." Ginny said suddenly. Harry looked up from his thoughts and shook his head slightly, thinking of the Weasley twins at work in their newly opened store. Zonko's was receiving less and less attention nowadays, with Weasely's Wizard Wheezes items floating around.

"After the time they about you getting prefect?" Ron said skeptically, motioning towards the badge pinned to her robes.

"Oh, that's just them for you," shrugged the youngest Weasley.

"I count you lucky," muttered Ron, clearly remembering last year's torment by his expression. Neville was trying desperately to hide a grin.

Harry was thoughtful, though not in an unpleasant way as he watched his friends talk as they all walked down the corridor. He was unaware that James Potter, his long sought-for father, was passing directly by him at the moment. The two boys brushed shoulders for a moment and shared a thought: _Another day begins._ Then, both Potters were swept into their different spheres, unaware of the momentary breech. Only Neville, eyes widening as he saw this occurrence, witnessed it. And, of course, thought he was going mad.


	11. Answers and Decisions

JKR's charries aren't mine, though I do like to (insert shifty eyes here) use them occasionally...Mwaha! Sorry that the last chapter took so long to complete. I was really loaded down with work—still am, really, but I kind of need an escape. And goodness knows I would rather be writing fulltime any day. Sorry for all of you "James and Harry MUST meet!" people. The close brush was planned a long time ago. Have to dangle the bait, don't I? Keep reading and don't assume that this story will go a certain way, because I might not be as predictable as you think.

............

Neville had stopped, letting Harry, Ginny and Ron pass him. They didn't seem to notice his sudden absence; all were now reminiscing about the Vanishing Cabinet incident of last year. He craned his neck, peering down the hallway after the _second_ Harry. Neville swayed slightly on the spot, feeling very lost and very confused all of the sudden. While the former wasn't a new feeling, the latter, he would prefer to do without. Before he could take any course of action, whether it be to demand just what was going on or to inform Harry if he knew that there were two of him running around Hogwarts, he was jerked backward into a nearby classroom. He stumbled and fell hard on his rump, looking up to see whom his abductor was. Hermione Granger was closing the door carefully behind them and then turned to face Neville.

"Did you see what I saw?" She asked cautiously, as if trying to indirectly ask another question. Neville blinked at her.

"I think I saw what you saw."

"If you think what you saw was what I saw then you saw—"

"Two Harrys." Neville said, eyes going round. He hadn't bothered to get up from the floor. He was staring up at Hermione in disbelief, "Then I'm not mad? You saw it too?" But then, before Hermione could answer his eyes narrowed and he said, "Unless you're mad too. I can't be the only one, after all."

"Neville," Hermione said with exaggerated patience, "You are _not_ insane. And neither am I."

"Prove it. I just saw two Harrys, Hermione."

"One was Harry, but the other is named James." Hermione explained, "James Potter, Neville."

"But, Hermione..." Neville gasped, eyes once again wide. He looked shocked to the core and more than a little disbelieving. It was how Hermione had felt when James had told her his last name (even though she had hardly dared to suspect it before); as if someone had just punched her in the gut. If it was affecting them, Harry's friends, in such a way, Hermione couldn't imagine Harry's reaction.

"It's true. Somehow, his seventh-year self got transported to our time...whether by Time-Turner or curse I don't know." Hermione told him after a moment. Neville nodded slowly, but jerkily, as alternating between understanding and remaining completely befuddled. There was a long silence and then, suddenly:

"W-We have to tell him." Neville said promptly, meeting Hermione's eyes suddenly, "We _have_ to."

"We can't, Neville. We don't know how it will affect our time. Who knows what James would do if he found out that he was dead?" Neville flinched, as if he had been lashed with an invisible whip.

"Harry would want to know, though, wouldn't he?" Hermione thought that she heard him add very quietly, "And I can't blame him."

"Yes, but he would want to meet his father if he knew about him. And I don't know if that's the best thing—"

"I don't know, Hermione. I just don't know." Neville shook his head suddenly, looking horribly confused, "Harry's dad running around Hogwarts? I saw him when he first came, you know." He stopped and mumbled absently, "There was a kind of a wind...I was lost and when he appeared, I thought he was Harry. I called him Harry. His eyes were the wrong color." The last seemed to banish a bit of doubt that he still held.

"Did you tell him who Harry was?" Hermione asked sharply, forcibly staring Neville down, unconsciously taking a step closer.

"I-I don't think so." Neville said nervously as she looked down at him, "I mean, I..." He screwed up his eyes in concentration, trying to remember, "No, I don't think so."

Hermione nodded, her face suddenly thoughtful, eyes faraway. Neville stood to his feet and adjusted his robe over his shoulders carefully as Hermione watched through glazed vision. _Yes, he did mention being called Harry before when I first met him. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he's figured it out. If he has, then..._Hermione blinked and focused again on Neville before saying in a rush, "I have to go. Don't tell Harry, Neville; that's very important." With that, the bushy-haired, scholarly girl rushed from the room, a piece of crumpled, old parchment fluttering in her wake. Neville hurriedly scooped it up and left the room after Hermione.

"Wait! Wait, Hermione!" He called, but stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet. The girl was darting ahead of him, seemingly not hearing his calls in her single-mindedness. Neville chased her down the corridor, "Hermione!" He dodged a girl with black plaits and a disgruntled expression on her face, "HERMIONE!"

Hermione spun and spotted Neville and stopped, allowing him to catch up, "What?" She looked slightly irritable, as if preoccupied.

"You dropped this," Neville said and handed her the old bit of parchment. She stared down at it for a minute, something seemingly on her tongue before she frowned and then stuffed it hurriedly (and securely) into her pocket.

"Thank you." At that moment, however, an egg appeared out of nowhere and hurled itself at Neville's head. Cold yolk ran down the side of the boy's head, matting his hair down. Neville shuddered and wiped some of the substance off, staring at the eggshell that had tumbled to the floor after bouncing off of him. An evil cackling was heard and Peeves appeared, chanting, "Ickle, pickle, sickle, tickle, fickle..."

"Peeves!" Hermione said firmly, but then stopped. No one ever succeeded in subduing the poltergeist, save for... "Bloody Baron won't be happy to hear about this." Peeves only blew a raspberry at her, apparently knowing that her threat was empty, and continued along the hall, rhyming words that made no sense whatsoever. Hermione turned back to Neville and said, "Alright there?"

Neville met her sympathetic gaze and flushed, feeling angry and humiliated, "Fine." The yoke was drying fast, crusting over almost as quickly as he tried to rub it off. Hermione shifted from one foot to the next, clearly anxious to do what she had wanted to do before, so Neville said, "I'm going to go...wash this off." He walked away, then, careful to avoid the floating poltergeist in case of another assault. Neville thought that this wasn't turning out to be the best day. He was dirty, confused and wavering. Neville kept hearing Hermione saying, _'Don't tell Harry, Neville; that's very important.' _Neville trusted Hermione and had been friends with her ever since she first helped him find a missing Trevor the toad on the train on the way to Hogwarts on their first year. But Harry, Harry was his friend, too. _Who defeated Voldemort several times and lost Sirius..._ Neville shook his head before slipping into the boy's lavatory. He would trust Hermione; it had never failed him before. _At least, not yet, _he couldn't help but think sadly. Was he going to regret this decision?


	12. Monisha Lefattening

JKR's charries aren't mine. I know my chapters are short; sorry about this. That's in part because of my schedule and also because of the way I have the story planned. And boy, do I have some stuff planned, mates! Alrighty, we have Day Three of James's Journey to the Future beginning...now! Disclaimer (for this and possibly the next chapter): If you have no sense of humor, then you may not want to read. Humor me. I cannot apologize for James, because James is James.

..............

James Potter was bored. Normally, when he declared this particular feeling, whatever company he had would find an excuse (or make one up) to leave, because everyone knew what happened when _James Potter_ was bored. Well, everyone in the past did and now, James was in the future. So, shortly after classes on his third day in the future, he made his announcement, no one had the foresight to run while they could. He was lounging by the fire in the Hufflepuff common room, heels digging into the painfully yellow carpet and shoulders two sharp ridges of discontent.

"I'm bored." A few people looked up; a girl with blond pigtails giggled. She looked slightly familiar and didn't seem to have a following, so James decided to talk to her, "I'm James."

"Hannah Abbott," The girl replied blushingly and inhabited a chair near James's. James's hand unconsciously went for his pockets, in which several _interesting_ objects could be found. A small jar of undiluted Bubotuber pus was always useful (a favorite weapon of his against Snivelly; it mixed wonderfully with Stinkpuss and Dungbombs), from the rustic line of Filibuster's finest wet-start fireworks was one that he had fused with a Dungbomb during one of those notorious bored hours, three pieces of Exploding Snap (rigged with his wand to do things that the normal game pieces _definitely_ didn't do) and a couple pieces of Spell-o-tape. He hadn't pulled a prank with his toys in three days. That was something of a miracle. He thought it high time.

"Well met." James said absently, pulling out his favorite of the three rigged Exploding Snap pieces. It was something of a bomb, releasing a putrid gas into the air that was so foul that the one time James had tried it, Peter (who was the only one that James hadn't warned of the smell) had projectile vomited all over Remus's robes spectacularly. Oh, and there was also the matter that it exploded in a glory of green sparks the very same shade of Lily's eyes when she was angry with him.

"Is that an Exploding Snap piece?" Hannah asked interestedly, peering at the gadget clutched into James's palm. James grinned up at her in a rakish way that only flaunted his charm.

"Something like that." He fiddled absently with it, connecting it and about to disengage the wires again (or else it would go off in an hour on the dot), when Hannah suddenly wrestled it from him.

"Hey--!" James cried, trying to grab it back. But it was hopeless. With a little grin and a bat of eyelashes, Hannah was gone into the girls' dormitories. There was no way that James could follow her—he knew the consequences of that one from the one time he had tried to sneak into the dorms in the dead of the night to play a prank. Needless to say, moments later his entire scheme had been averted by a bunch of bleary-eyed, nightgown wearing Gryffindor girls shouting at him. No, he definitely wasn't following Hannah.

But, he had to get that Exploding Snap piece back. He smirked. It would prove her right if he didn't figure out some way to get it back before it exploded. _But still, that's good hardware and I need it if I ever want to duplicate it. I'm going to have to get it back somehow. _James looked around. He could easily ask any one of these girls to go in there and get it back for him. He certainly had the charm to do so. _It's too easy, though..._James needed _entertainment_. He needed _fun_. He needed _laughter_.

..............

"...and that's why I'm doing it." James explained patiently to Hermione forty-five minutes later. Hermione had been walking down the corridors, trying to avoid passing curfew after a long haul in the library, when she came across a very...strange-looking girl. Her features were distinctly masculine and...oddly familiar. Hermione had stopped in the middle of the hall, jerked James aside and, in horrified tones, asked him what he was doing dressed as a girl (a very ugly one, she might have added).

"Hannah Abbott stole your _what?_" Hermione asked in scandalized tones. She looked distinctly disapproving, "And you know, you could have just asked someone—"

"My Exploding Snap stink bomb. And honestly, Hermione, taking the easy way out is _hardly_ my style." James looked wounded, but dropped the act quickly, posing, "So, what do you think? Jamie or is that too obvious?" Hermione struggled with laughter, trying not to give James any indication of her amusement. However, she couldn't hold it back anymore when an apple freed itself of James's robes and rolled around at his feet. Now, his chest appeared misshapen. Hermione stooped over in silent gales of laughter, clutching at her side.

"James Potter, you are impossible!" She remarked when she was under control of her laughter again. Before long, though, she was sufficiently calmed. _I'm talking to a dead man, _Hermione thought in horror, looking into the very alive, dancing eyes of James Potter. She already thought of him as a brother-figure, much like she thought of Harry. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he would be lost to the past again soon, dead forever. Instead, she once again focused on his garb. He was wearing a hideous yellow-daisy pullover over his robes and there was a hideous brown mop of a wig on his head. He was wearing blue eyeliner that sparkled and there were two garish spots of color on his cheeks, emphasizing the bright lipstick on his mouth. He grinned rakishly, a grin that was so like Harry's and yet so different (not to mention ridiculous with his clown-like paint).

"Where did you find all of that stuff?" Hermione questioned curiously.

"That secret will follow me to the grave. Really, I think I should have been a blond this time—"

"_This_ time? You've done this _before_?"

"No!" James declared vehemently. There was a pause, "Well, unless you count that one time in Hogsmeade..."

Hermione shook her head and said, "You enjoy this far too much. It's disturbing. Really disturbing."

"I never made a really pretty girl. Remus was much prettier. Yeah, old Corin Walters actually asked _Remindra _out. Ah, haven't let him forget that one, oh no..." James wiped away an imaginary tear from his long, fake eyelashes. _Remus, as in Professor Lupin?_ Hermione thought incredulously, unable to form the mental picture...and not preferring to.

"There is such a thing as too much information, you know." Hermione told him dryly. James grinned and strolled past her down the hall.

"Well," He said in falsetto that was obviously fake, "I'll see you around. It's time to get my Exploding Snap piece back." James paused for a moment and asked, "Do you zink I should geeve myzelf an acceent?" Hermione chose not to answer this as she walked away, shaking her head the entire time, while James tried to come up with a more exotic name to suit his newfound accent. _James is definitely different than Harry. He's completely mad! _But, Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of Harry every time James talked. _Maybe this is what Harry would have been like, if he had his father as his influence. _Hermione stopped in her tracks and shuddered.

.............

"Vhere eez it?" A giggling, high-pitched voice asked an unfortunate Ernie Macmillan, who had enlisted to help this 'new' student. _There sure have been a lot of loony new students lately, _Ernie thought irritably. This French girl looked a bit like a man, to be honest. And oddly familiar, which made it all the more disturbing. She was possibly the ugliest girl (Pansy Parkinson included) that Ernie had ever seen. _If Beauxbatons turns out girls like this, then I hope I never have to go there. _Ernie risked a sidelong glance at the girl and her nearly worm-like brown hair, ridiculous exaggerated make-up and revolting sweater.

"I'll just show you." Ernie told her. He had come upon 'Monisha Lefattening' (or so she told him; what an odd name!) in the hallway, lingering uncertainly, apparently looking for, "ze Hufflepuff common room", as she called it. The 'girl's lip twitched when Ernie looked away for a moment. Clearly, James was enjoying his feminine side. A bit too much. Ernie led 'Monisha' to the common room and pointed her in the direction of the girls' forms. He watched the girl ascend the stairs and halfway up, a piercing shriek filled the air, the stairs suddenly forming a slide, causing Monisha fall tumbling down, head over heels, displaying bloomers with hearts stitched into them as she did so. Unfortunately, however, Monisha's hair fell off and slid after him, as well as did two bruised, very abused-looking apples. When she came to a halt at Ernie's feet, Ernie could clearly see that Monisha wasn't Monisha. In fact, Monisha's features seemed so masculine because they _were_ masculine.

"_James_?" Ernie asked, horrified. James picked himself up, dusting off his hideous sweater with an expression of slight annoyance on his face.

"So, that's how it works then? I don't make a convincing enough girl?" James fumed, looking highly affronted. Ernie was too shocked at the indignity of a _male_ dressing as a _female_, or he would have sworn that James was about to shake his fist at the staircase. One of James's fake eyelashes then got loose of his real lashes, dangling perilously close to his eye. Before either he or Ernie could say another word, though, another shriek, this one feminine, came from the girls' dormitories. A flood of girls came pouring out, pursued by thick smog. Several of them were gagging. Hannah Abbott was last to emerge, looking distinctly green-tinged in the face. She hurled the offending game piece down at James, who instinctively plugged his nose with one and detached a few wires with the other. In moments, the fog was gone, though there was a definite odor to the room now. It was clear that, thanks to James Potter, the Hufflepuff common room would never smell quite the same again.


	13. Past Grudges

These charries are copyrighted JKR. I'm just borrowing them for this fanfic. Okay, enough fun. I was cracking up so hard (the mental images!) while concocting the last chapter. Yes, I know that it was a bit off-the-wall, but it was too hilarious not to write about! Now, here we are, back to the plot. Remember, eat your green vegetables and drink milk for strong bones (unless you are lactose intolerant). Oh, and enjoy the story!

..............

"_Now, Severus. I know that James is no friend of yours," said the Headmaster kindly. Severus reluctantly met his eyes. But once he looked at Dumbledore, Dumbledore's eyes were harder and his tone firmer, "But you _cannot_ let it affect you. He is only back for a week. Refrain from telling him that he is dead. I trust you, Severus." Professor Snape gritted his teeth, trying to swallow anger that he thought long dead, along with the man called James Potter. Snape did not know which was stronger: his hate for James Potter or his respect for Dumbledore. _

"_I understand—"_

"_No, you don't." Severus rasped suddenly, "Sir." Dumbledore merely looked at him before nodding, hands clasped on his desk, watching him to see what he would do, say. Severus glared at the desk. _How can I give my word not to do the very thing that I want to do most—hurt Potter, get him back for all of those times... _But at the same time, he knew it was in vain. James would still have the upper hand in a way; Severus would be punishing James as his superior and not his equal. Snape looked up and met Dumbledore's eyes again, looking as if he had just swallowed something foul. _

"_I won't," He said softly. Dumbledore only continued to look at him. Snape nearly sighed; it was worth the chance of a loophole. Apparently, the Headmaster found this serious enough to allow none. So Snape added, "I won't...seek revenge..." He spat these words out bitterly before continuing, "against James Potter." _

Professor Severus Snape looked up from his memory, looked up from the papers he had yet to grade. In his present mood, he doubted that even half of the Slytherins would get even a meager 'A'. His quill would only be scrawling 'P's and 'D's, if only to make himself feel better. A ray of weak sunshine filtered into the staffroom, causing Snape to blink irritably. It was just after lunch. Afternoon classes wouldn't start for at least a half-hour, so Snape had ample time to grade the papers. He had sixth-years after lunch; his lip curled. The Slytherins and Gryffindors. He had not promised to coddle Harry Potter just because his _toerag_ of an _ignorant, stupid_ father had gotten himself into mischief and transported himself into the future. Harry wasn't to know that his father was walking around Hogwarts by "any means", said Dumbledore. Personally, Snape thought that Harry should meet his scum of a father and knock a couple chips from his shoulder. _Oh, he's so _poor _and _tragic _and let's not forget _famous_, just because his parents are dead and his godfather—_

The door opened and admitted Minerva McGonagall, who was carrying several rolls of parchment and a quill in hand. She looked at Snape instantly and said very primly, "Hello Severus."

"Minerva," grunted Professor Snape in return. When he had first been appointed Potions professor, it had been odd to call her that. In his time at Hogwarts, she had been his Transfiguration professor, though neither he nor she had ever known one another very well. It had taken some time for him to stop thinking of her as "Professor McGonagall". She was Gryffindor Head of House, as always, and he was very pleased to accept the role of Slytherin Head of House. It had created a bit of rivalry between them as the Quidditch and House Cups were continually handed back and forth between hands. They also seemed to vary in several opinions, but both were Order members and therefore, ultimately fighting for the same side.

Snape could not help but remember a time, though, when he was just a student—a scrawny, greasy-haired kid that was always a misfit, dabbling fingers in Dark Magic, in things forbidden and shunned, as he was, by other people—and she a professor. It was not hard to see that he suffered. It was not hard to see that, because Potter hated him, the rest of Hogwarts seemed to follow his lead. Snape could not help but remember a time when he had seen Minerva McGonagall turn her back as James taunted him. Sure, it had been anything but one-sided, but James never fought to lose. Snape had seen the Transfiguration professor, had caught her eye and in that moment, lost the duel. And McGonagall had walked away. Snape felt his anger rekindled at the memory: yet another that he had thought long buried.

Before he could stop himself, he looked up at the professor and asked, "Why did you coddle Potter?" McGonagall, who had taken a seat by then, looked at him over her square-rimmed spectacles, a stern look fixed on her face as always. She didn't look perplexed or confused by the question, but she didn't answer for a moment.

"We all did." She answered crisply. She did not pretend to not know which Potter Snape was talking about; she knew. Something in her gaze though, asked the silent question: _Why are you asking me this? _

"Why?" Snape insisted, getting a little agitated now.

"He was a good student. Charming, witty. He pulled the occasional prank, but it was harmless." McGonagall smiled faintly, tightly, "All professors are guilty of favoritism at some time."

"Don't give me that. You know what I'm getting to!" Snape snapped, letting his temper flare briefly, "Why did you not stop him?"

McGonagall watched him with that infuriatingly stern and controlled expression, only emphasizing the fact that he was maddened by past hatred, "I know you're angry with Potter. Do try and remember that it isn't him you're talking to."

Snape met her stare for stare, him from the small round table and her from the couch on the opposite side of the room. His temples were beginning to throb with his anger. He was now angrier with himself for losing his temper. He was usually able to contain himself quite easily.

"You and James Potter were always quarreling." McGonagall said, "But it was never anything more than child's play. Mr. Potter and I had many 'talks' about his penchant for taunting. But he was so arrogant," Instead of sounding scolding, McGonagall sounded nostalgic, fond, "that I doubt it got through to him. Detentions never really seemed to have an effect on him, either. If it hadn't been for a young Remus Lupin, I shouldn't like to know what sort of mischief he and Black would have gotten into." She paused for a moment and said evenly, "There is only so much a professor can do, you know."

Yes, Snape did know. _If it weren't for my limitations of being professor, I would do far more than stand by and let James Potter have his _fun_ here, _he thought. But there was less of an edge to his anger, now. And there was also the fact that Professor Severus Snape knew something that James Potter did not know. A flicker of a curling smile appeared over Snape's waxy features as he bade farewell to McGonagall.


	14. False Accusations

JKR's charries aren't mine, but that would be nice. More than nice. Ideal, even. Yes, the last chapter _was_ hard to write...especially for me. I'm such a sucker for James that it was hard to write something so spiteful towards him. Yes, I admit shamelessly: I am a James fangirl. So, if the last chapter sucked, you know why. Anyway, continuing with Day Four. Happy reading!

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"Oi, Harry!" Ron called irritably, "Wait, will you?" Harry had just emerged from NEWT-level Potions, which Ron didn't have with him. He was taking Muggle Studies while Harry spent the period under Snape's hooked nose. Muggle Studies was a lot easier than Potions, but Ron was now very much convinced that Muggles were completely off their nut. Harry paused for only a moment, looking over his shoulder with a wince. Ron glanced over his shoulder, too. He grinned slightly when he saw Colin Creevey heading down the hall, beaming and calling, "Harry!" Ron sped up and caught up with Harry easily. Ron's limbs were somewhat longer than Harry's; he was growing so tall that his robes were slightly too short for him.

"Dodging Colin?" Ron asked knowingly. In his second year especially, Harry had learned that avoiding the small, over-eager boy was a form of unappreciated art. Ron just thought that it was a bit of cheap entertainment. Colin worshipping the ground Harry walked on, while Harry could do nothing but blush and try to get away...quickly...what a sight. Therefore, Ron wasn't surprised when Harry nodded in response. He was surprised, however, when a voice said from behind him, "Really, Harry, it isn't as if he's _hurting_ you."

Hermione fell into step with the boys, gripping a stack of books, parchment, quills and ink bottles just as he and Harry were. She pushed a lot of brown hair from her face and when that didn't succeed, tried to blow it away. Ron watched her curiously, about to ask her where she had been for so long. Before he could attempt to ask, however, Harry grumbled, "I would almost prefer that to _this,_" and gestured backward at Colin. There was a silence for a moment before Harry grinned humorously. Hermione exchanged looks with Ron, eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise at his good mood. _Ha! Serves her right for not being around. I wonder where she's been, anyway..._The previous day, he thought that he had seen Harry and Hermione turning a corner up ahead. He had called out, but hadn't been able to catch up with them. Five minutes later, he had been surprised to see Harry join him, looking preoccupied. _"Huh, that's funny. I could have sworn I saw you with Hermione a couple of minutes ago," _he had said, but Harry had looked at him strangely and said that he hadn't seen Hermione since Transfiguration earlier that day. _But I could have sworn..._Ron hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that something dodgy was going on.

Hermione laughed at Harry and then Ron asked, "Where have you been getting off to lately?" For some reason, she shot an oddly furtive look at Harry before answering. Harry didn't seem to reciprocate the glance, or even notice that she looked in his direction. It wasn't the sort of thing that Harry would pay attention to. In fact, Ron was surprised that he noticed. His suspicion was roused.

"I...er," she stammered, meeting Ron's eyes, "Well, there has been a lot of homework lately, hasn't there?" She finished briskly, turning her gaze once again to Harry. Harry was still trying to scoot down the corridor, away from a rapidly pursing Colin, slumping his shoulders a bit as if the younger boy would suddenly lose sight of a smaller target.

"Not really," Ron said skeptically. For a moment, Hermione looked at loss for words. He tried to think of the 'lot' of homework that they had been getting, but could only think of Transfiguration and Divination and Hermione wasn't even in the latter. "Just because you don't do your homework doesn't mean that everyone else doesn't," she muttered finally, but it was lacking in her normal bossiness. _She's hiding something, _Ron thought darkly. The looks that she was giving Harry weren't helping things, either. Hermione avoided looking at Ron altogether. _She's hiding something from me._ His thoughts took a more accusatory turn asthey all stopped before the portrait hole.

"Password?" The Fat Lady demanded.

"Knarl," said Harry quickly, and with a quick glance over his shoulder (spotting Colin closing in the gap between them rapidly), jumped through the now exposed portrait hole.

"I do my homework!" Sputtered Ron indignantly, unable to come up with a better response than this. She gave him a dry, exasperated look before entering the portrait hole behind Harry. Ron was last to follow. When he emerged, Hermione was giving Harry another odd look. She looked like she had been on the verge of saying something, but let her mouth snap shut when Ron entered.

"What?" Harry said blankly.

"Oh, er...you have a spot of dirt, there, on your nose." Hermione said in a rather high-pitched voice. She reached forward as if to remove something from his face, but Ron didn't see any dirt. As soon as she was done, she made up an excuse and disappeared into the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron both stared after her.

"Acting a little funny, isn't she?" Harry asked before plopping down in an armchair, "She seemed fine in Potions." He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, for a moment concealing his eyes in the shadow of his fingers.

"_Were_ you two together yesterday?" Ron blurted suddenly.

"What do you—"

"I mean, yesterday. You know, when I was in the same corridor. I thought I saw you and Hermione. I called out, but neither of you answered. I could have sworn Hermione looked back and pushed you—"

"Didn't we talk about this yesterday?" Harry asked irritably, "I don't think I've talked to Hermione much lately, except during class. She's been acting right dodgy if you ask me."

"She kept on giving you these weird looks." Ron said, his voice more accusing than he meant it to be. He was unintentionally becoming angry and hurt, but by what, he didn't know.

"I don't know what you mean by this," Harry replied, starting to get a little angry also, "Just because Hermione is acting odd, doesn't mean I have anything to do with it!"

"So, you _do_ have something to do with it?" Ron said, more than asked. He seemed to have misunderstood Harry. _I should have known! Something's going on between Harry and Hermione and they didn't want me to know. They've been sneaking around and now Hermione's feeling guilty! _Ron suddenly had ample proof running through his mind, added to the fact that, now that he thought of it, that hadn't been the first time he had sighted Harry and Hermione together in the past couple of days.

"Stop being stupid, would you?" Harry stood up, a flash of anger in his green eyes. Ron didn't very much care about how his best mate was feeling at the moment. Tension was running high in the room when Colin Creevey entered through the portrait hole.

"Stupid, now, am I?" He retorted.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are!" Harry said and turned on his heel, headed towards the boys' dormitories. Ron also turned, but only walked a short distance to the fireplace, where he sunk down and stared broodingly at the flames. _I can't believe they would hide this from me. I'm their best friend. Why should I care if they...they snog in broom closets? _But Ron did care. He cared, but he'd never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. He cast a warning look at Colin, who had seemed as if he was about to walk over to Ron. Colin stopped in mid-step and decided to go in a different direction. Ron took no more notice of this; he merely resumed staring into the fireplace moodily.


	15. Plunging

JKR's charries aren't mine. Sorry about the long wait and... Aha, finally some constructive criticism. I was quite wondering when I would run into it (insert grin here). I appreciate it, readers! Maxennce—Yes, I realized this problem a little while ago myself. I think that I've developed a good reason for James's 'being a good boy' though, to be seen in later chapters. Scotgirl—You have impeccable timing, I think you'll find. To see what I mean, read onward. As for the rest of you, I appreciate ideas and the wonderful compliments. Keep reading and reviewing!

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Ronald Weasley wasn't the only one brooding that night. Flickering flames were mirrored in the cold, gray eyes of Draco Malfoy as he stared into the Slytherin common room's fireplace. It was late at night and he was supposed to be finishing up his foot-long composition on the Poisonous Mouth root and how it was used in potion-making, but his book lay forgotten in a nearby corner. A quill and a jar of ink were collecting dust at his feet, along with a piece of parchment with only the title written on it. There were only a few Slytherins still up at this hour and neither Crabbe nor Goyle was one of them. Both were already asleep, most likely shaking the dormitory with snores. But it wasn't Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle that Draco was thinking about. His lip curled in disgust as the fire again and again tossed up the face of Harry Potter. The sneering, cocky face of Potter as he had so _easily_ outmaneuvered Draco yesterday. Draco's hands closed around the armrests. _He's not going to get away with humiliating me, _he thought furiously. The fireplace spit a smoldering bit of ash at his feet, only inches away from his parchment. Draco didn't notice or care. He wasn't listening to the hushed murmurs of conversation that floated around the room from the dwindling student body that remained there. He wasn't listening to the muted howls of the winter wind outside. His ears were filled with Potter's quip: _"The only reason I would be crying is because I saw your face." _When Draco had been expecting a display of temper or perhaps even sadness at his comment, he had only received cool bravado in response. It was quite unnerving.

"Well, tomorrow, you _will_ be crying, Potter," whispered Draco. He allowed a satisfied smile to cover his face for a moment, thinking of the prize he had acquired. It had been so easy to get: if you told a first-year to do your bidding with two very convincing thugs behind you, then that first-year was sure to do it. The proof of that was in his dormitory, waiting to be used tomorrow.

_It had been so easy. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him with menacing expressions on their faces while he gripped the front of the boy's robes. "You _will _find some way to get into Potter's dormitory. I don't care how you do it, but the important thing is, you _will _do it."_ _He had told the Gryffindor first-year. _

"_I-I don't think I should..." The first-year had squeaked in return. His eyes met Goyle's and with another whimper, he was leaping to correct his previous statement, "I will. I will!" With a shove, Draco had released his new little friend, watching him scamper away. "By the way, I'll expect you to have it by dinner!" He and his two brutish friends had turned away, enveloped in their own laughter. _

Draco stood up, throwing a last sneer at the fireplace, but Potter's face didn't smirk back at him. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. He could feel it. He walked to the dormitories and only moments later, slipped beneath the covers of his bed. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and slept with dreams of his soon-to-come revenge.

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The Great Hall. A noisy din of Hufflepuff girls speculating over the latest rumors, of Quidditch fans debating the outcome of the next match and of friends discussing how to spend their blustery Saturday. The sky overhead reflected gray clouds looming threateningly overhead, though there was no sign of sleet or snow quite yet. Heads lifted momentarily when Harry walked through the threshold and headed for the Gryffindor table, holding his broomstick. He was up pretty early that Saturday, planning on getting in some extra flying practice. It was a good thing that he was out of the dormitory, because right now, he didn't think any of the boys in there were feeling friendly toward him. Rustling around, looking for lost possessions in the early hours of any weekend morning didn't gain you any friends or mend any broken relationships. _If I hadn't cussed so loudly when I stubbed my toe..._he thought, but he grinned at the memory of Dean cussing back at him about it being 'too bloody early for this'. But pretty soon, the smile slid from his face. It seemed he was losing everything lately; first, his Marauder's Map and now, his favorite picture of his parents and Sirius. It meant a lot to him because it was the only framed photo he had. There was something comforting about waking up to his parents and Sirius waving cheerily at him from that frame next to his bed. But this morning, it had been absent from his bedside table. Harry didn't remember moving it or noticing that it was gone the previous night, but that may have been because he was so furious at Ron.

_What right does he have to get angry at me for something I didn't even do, anyway? _He thought as he took a seat, _What would I have to do with Hermione acting dodgy? And why would he be angry about it if I did? _All of his indignity was channeled into these questions and he had a feeling that he would have to know the answers before he and Ron could patch things up. _Patch things up? If he's going to act like a madman, then it's his business. _And with that, Harry firmly dismissed the subject from his mind. He eyed his grits before sticking a fork in them and shoveling some into his mouth. The hotcakes looked nice too. Once he was done with his grits, however, he found that he wasn't hungry. The hotcakes no longer looked appetizing.

"Something bothering you, young Potter?" Came a distinguished-sounding voice. Harry looked up to see Nearly Headless Nick floating nearby, looking at him.

"No, nothing," Harry said, perhaps a bit too quickly. His only response was a knowing look. He quickly shoved some more food in his mouth to stave off further conversation. If there was something he didn't want to do, it was confide in someone. After a few moments, Harry looked up from the corner of his eye and saw that Nick had taken the hint: he had left. In that same quick glance, however, he spotted Malfoy strutting into the Great Hall with his broom also in hand. Harry watched him warily. Even from this distance, he could tell that Malfoy was cocky about something. Besides his broom, he held something else that Harry couldn't make out. Harry watched him as he strode to the Slytherin table. Pretty soon, a group of Slytherins had gathered around him. Harry suddenly felt a lot of eyes on him and then heard some scattered laughter.

Harry felt all of his frustration at Ron rise to the surface. He pushed his chair back from the table and walked over to the opposite end of the room. He stopped when he was close enough to hear what Draco was saying to the onlookers.

"...and he cries all over this pathetic photograph every night because he misses his mummy and dear old dad," Malfoy was saying, "Pathetic Potter and his pathetic picture." Apparently, the group of Slytherins found this extremely witty, because laughter punctuated the phrase. Harry squinted and saw that Malfoy was holding...his heart skipped a beat...his framed picture of his parents and Sirius. He pushed through the crowd, trying to get to Malfoy.

"Give that back," Harry said furiously. The pale boy only lifted his eyebrows in cold disdain, as if he were a piece of filth to be wiped off of his shoe.

"You know, your mum should have taught you some manners before she died. I think you're going to pay for your rudeness." Again laughter. Harry didn't care. He lunged forward to get at Malfoy, but clearly, he was expecting it. Laughing also, he dodged out of sight and exited the Great Hall, heading for the Grounds outside. For a few moments, he struggled against the crowd, but soon, he managed to get through.

Before he knew it, Harry had thrust himself outside into the chilly weather after Malfoy, determined to get his photograph back. He had some others, but this one meant more; it was his favorite. He wouldn't let Malfoy take it. Ahead, Harry glimpsed Malfoy mounting his broom and pushing off into the cloudy sky. _Dumb move, Malfoy, _he thought triumphantly, _I'm faster than you in the air. _As he pushed off also, following his rival with a speed that only a Firebolt could manage, he wasn't aware of Professor Snape's eyes sighting them. He wasn't aware that Snape only smirked and turned away. The only thing he saw ahead was Malfoy against a canvas of gray clouds. There was moisture on the air and the wind streaked past him, causing his cloak to whip behind him like a black banner.

He streamlined himself against the broom, egging it on further, faster, closer. The tail of Malfoy's broom was in reach now. Harry reached forward and grabbed the back of the broom with one hand, attempting to jerk the broomstick backward.

"What's the matter, Potty? Want this?" Malfoy taunted, waving the picture with a free hand. He zipped away as Harry lost his grip on the end of the Nimbus while trying to grab at it. Harry soon flew in pursuit. Below, the Grounds passed in a whirl; there was the Whomping Willow, the lake, Hagrid's Hut and at last, the Forbidden Forest. Harry's heart sunk. He knew what Malfoy was going to do before he did it.

"Fetch, Potty!" And Malfoy, just as expected, flung the picture below, into the heart of the wild Forbidden Forest. Harry dove after it, spiraling downward in a dangerously inclined dive. The wind was a torrent around him, his cloak was ripped from his back with the force. It was carried away by the wind, flapping for a few minutes feebly before drifting and falling. Meanwhile, the picture was gone. Harry's memories, gone. He slowed his dive and controlled it, dodging the groping arms of the trees as he descended into the darkness of the Forest. _I _will _find that picture. _That picture symbolized all of Harry's dreams and wishes. It symbolized what his life would have been without Voldemort. Just as he refused to let go of those lost, he refused to let go of something that he had little chance of finding.

Despite his best efforts, Harry didn't manage to avoid all of the tightly intertwined branches of the Forbidden Forest. His broom knocked into one, the front of it catching a branch. It almost dislodged him, but he clung to it tightly with the excellent reflexes that people had told him that his father had possessed as well. Harry sighed in relief and pushed off of the branch, aiming towards the ground. The darkness was creeping in around him and he could no longer see overcast, pale light of day overhead. It was becoming harder to navigate through the boughs, directly down below to the forest floor.

He could not see anything. It was blackness beyond all sense of the word. The trees seemed to move in around him, crowding him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The darkness strangled him with long fingers until his heart quickened with fear. _A mistake. It was a mistake to come here, _he thought. Harry pulled his broom up, heading back for the sky that was scarcely visible. With no visibility on either side, however, he did not see the branch jutting out from the nearest tall oak. Viciously, it collided with his head, instantly sending him into a world of whispers and shadows, half-lights and mists.


	16. Finding Harry

Mwaha! How cruel of me to leave such an ending for all of you! I'm just sadistic, I guess. But seriously, sorry about it. I hope this chappy will compensate for all of the agony you've been through (if any). I must apologize for the length of time it's been taking to produce these meager chapters; I'm a very busy girl. The sections are short, yes, but I've been trying to be a bit concise, because my friends tend to tell me that when I get carried away, I go off on a tangent. Just like this one. Anyway, thanks for the reviewing. Though...I would appreciate it if the language was cleaned up a bit; it seems like my reviews are rated PG-13 to my story's PG. Lol. Anyway, happy reading!

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James strode across the grounds, glad to be free of company for once. For the past few days, if Hermione and Ernie hadn't been trailing him, the professors had been keeping an annoyingly close watch. James usually didn't mind the attention--heck, he usually relished it, but this was something altogether different. He remembered Dumbledore's words: 'Be a good boy and keep your nose clean'. Well, he had tried. Trying was the best that Dumbledore could hope for when it came to James Potter. Even as Head Boy, he maintained a penchant for anything dubbed criminal or forbidden at Hogwarts. If it was against the rules, he had done it at least once. _How could he expect me to come to the future and have no fun? _James thought, irritated that he was feeling guilty. Consciences were such bothersome things. _What HAPPENED to me? I used to not have a conscience. _He tried to think back to when he had supernaturally managed to sprout any semblance of "the little voice in the back of the head". He could only come up with two conclusions: Lily and that whole saving-Snivelly-from-the-werewolf incident. Lily made him feel so guilty sometimes that it was no wonder that he was beginning to think about shoulder-angels. And, well, the Snivelly thing was obvious. _Well, conscience or no, I won't let it ruin my getaway. I've been good for this long, haven't I? _

'This long' had lasted until this morning, when he had bribed Susan Bones into asking for one of Ernie's famous lectures, had seen that Hermione was busy talking to a red-haired, freckled boy who had bumped into him in the Great Hall and well, pulling a stunt including McGonagall's unmentionables and a couple of chickens. Needless to say, none of these three prime culprits would be pursuing him after these measures had been taken. He just wanted some time away. Prongs was itching to be set free and James was more than willing to comply.

"Potter, where do you think you're going?" A sneering voice that hadn't changed a bit over the years asked. James took his time in turning around, an eyebrow lifted when he finally faced Severus Snape.

"Well, obviously not to talk to you, so I suggest you move along."

"I'm a professor, now, Potter, so _I _suggest _you_—"

"What? I happen to know that Dumbledore had a little talk with you. Therefore, I have the advantage here and you might not want to hinder my progress." His voice was innocent, but its implications were clear. Anger bloomed over Snape's face and he leaned close to James, his hooked nose inches from James's own long one.

"Are you threatening me?" He hissed.

"Oh, my mistake. Was it not clear enough? If not, I can make it clearer." James smirked at Snape, his eyebrow still lifted. His stance and facial expression said, _"Touch me. I dare you". _James knew very well that Dumbledore would have had a talk with Snape. After all, if James was harmed in any way, then the past might be thrown into chaos. It was one of the reasons (only one, mind) that James had been treading carefully. Snape's reaction had only affirmed his educated guess. James watched his foe's unnaturally pale face and those burning, dark eyes. It was hard to read emotion there, but it wasn't hard to tell that he very much hated James and wanted more than anything to harm him very badly. James felt a bit of disappointment that he didn't lose control and attack him, as was the desired effect of his words.

"Cocky as ever, aren't you, _Potter_," His words were silkily soft, the inflection on James's last name the only indication of how enraged he was, "I think it should be _clear_ to you that only Dumbledore stands in the way of my revenge. Be grateful, _Potter._" With that, he whisked off in a rush of too-long strides and whipping cloak. James folded his arms and watched him leave, mildly amused by this encounter. Time didn't change the fact that James always came off the better of their confrontations, or so it seemed. Once again, he found himself wondering: _Who was the absolute duffer who let _him_ become a professor? _He would have to warn Sirius, Remus and Peter to send their future kids to Beauxbatons or something. That thought made him wonder if he had met any of his friends' children thus so far. _Unlikely, _he thought, _I would have recognized them instantly. _He grinned, thinking of a female version of Padfoot running around.

James continued away from the castle even as the wind began to raise a clamor. The sky overhead was filled with billowing clouds, nearly bursting at the seams with sleet and rain to dump over the castle. The trees of the Forbidden Forest ahead were leafless, their gnarled boughs stern and forbidding (_That's probably why they call it the Forbidden Forest_, he thought) against the grim gray of the sky. The moisture in the air was palpable. The chill reddened James's cheeks and nose, quickly numbing the ends of his fingers. He quickened his pace, not feeling a bit intimidated as he came within a close proximity of the Forest. He and his friends were frequent visitors to the wooded area, their animal forms enjoying the romp through the perilous territory. No dangerous creature would approach the werewolf, or any other member of his 'pack', because it was instinctual for them to give the rabid canine a wide berth. Besides, James wasn't worried about anything he might meet in the Forbidden Forest. It was like a second home to him and he enjoyed the dangers along with the mystery.

A grin twitched the sides of his mouth up as he passed the first couple of trees. He was on autopilot now, easily stepping over underbrush that thickened as he entered the actual forest. He sped up to a jog, dodging the trunks of trees with remarkable agility that would only be improved in his stag form. He only halted when he noticed that everything was darkening around him. Soon, it was not a boy that stood in the Forbidden Forest, but a white horse-like creature. Prongs tossed his head as if to shake of the remainder of human thought from his mind. The stag was an odd blend of animal instincts and human awareness. James did not completely lose himself in his Prongs form, but his emotions were lessened some when he transformed. It was like the edge of a sharp blade dulling considerably. That was the wonderful and sometimes frightening aspect about becoming a stag. Human thoughts were held at an arm's length, as if thinking in stag form was a completely different experience. It was. Prongs did not think in words, but a series of muted feelings. The stag was so white that he seemed to radiate a sort of pale, indistinct light of his own. When he moved, the small aura moved as well. Head darting this way and that, antlers thrown back momentarily, Prongs proceeded at a darting, frolicking run. Brush could barely touch his quick hooves as he leaped joyously through the darkness of the Forest. There was no fear in the stag, no wariness, but a sheer comfortableness and familiarity that James could easily lose himself in. As the stag moved through the Forbidden Forest, he passed several monuments of marauder history. Had James been in human form, he would have taken the time to reminisce about the time that he and his three friends had traveled to this particular spot...and had used Peter to make sure there was a hole underneath a particularly leafy bush. There had been much laughter from Sirius and James, while Remus had struggled to help Peter, frowning slightly at his two nearly hysterical friends. Prongs moved onward, impervious to the flood of memories that James might have felt. To the left and off a couple hundred yards would be where Prongs had rammed his antlers into a tree in a temper of James's and left a great, sappy gash in the bark, chipping the end of his antlers. James hadn't been surprised to feel a large bump on his head in direct correlation with the stag's injury, but had felt sufficiently foolish. Remus had told him so while he dragged him up to the infirmary to make sure that he didn't have a concussion. And still ahead, James recalled their first year, their first trip to the Forest. They hadn't had their animal forms then and thought they were magnificently brave for accomplishing such a feat. Fortunately for them, so did the girls. Peter had been so terrified that he had done nothing but grip James's robes and squeak, while James had rolled his eyes expressly.

Prongs dodged through another cluster of trees that were so tightly entangled with one another that it suddenly would have seemed like night to a human. His eyes, exceptional in the darkness, scanned the forest floor. His nostrils flared and his hooves danced as he came to a halt. There was something ahead. A predator, by the smell of it. A predator waiting to carry away its prey. Prongs caught a whiff of the odor and pranced forward to see a large spider, giant eyes gleaming blackly in the deep darkness. In her shining ebony pincers, there was the limp form of a human. Prongs became enraged with the anger that belonged to James. A human! He whickered loudly and charged forward, lowering his head threateningly, displaying an impressive rack of antlers. He aimed them directly for the spider's multiple eyes, as if ready to gauge them out. The spider dropped its prey and hissed, backing away. Prongs threatened the many eyes with what gave him his namesake once more before the creature uttered a bestial sound of disappointment and disappeared into the underbrush for cover. The stag was then completely still, listening and smelling. When the spider was out of range, he pranced up to the human.

It was a boy and the spider had dropped him on his back. Prongs's night vision enabled him to see the boy's pale, still face. Suddenly, Prongs danced backward as if electrified. The stag form wavered and collapsed around the boy that could have been the unconscious one's twin. James knelt beside the boy and cautiously touched his shoulder, as if to make sure he was real. James's breathing was quick and his brow furrowed. For a moment, he had thought that this boy WAS him, a clone or double-James that lived here in the future. _Stupid, _James thought, nudging the boy again gently, _he's probably just the Harry fellow everyone's been telling me about. _A strange feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach. _My son. _And he was most definitely injured, he remembered from the stag's sight. Now, his night vision was so terrible that he could scarcely see Harry at all. _He needs to go to the infirmary, _James concluded unnecessarily, the shock of the situation still making his mind unnaturally sluggish. He couldn't summon a stretcher; it would be battered unrecognizably if it even made it to him. He didn't waste time cursing their location, though he felt like doing so.

"Mobilicorpus," he muttered, pulling out his wand. As he began to navigate back through the Forest, his feet in a frenzy of motion while dodging underbrush, he felt something crunch beneath his foot. He reached down and picked the object up, bringing it close to his face. It seemed to be a broken picture frame, the photograph trapped behind the shards of remaining glass. He couldn't make out what it showed, but he pocketed it anyway. James made his way forward, towards the castle, his mind strangely blank.

                                    ...................

"So, you mean to tell me that _James Potter_, Harry's _dead_ father, is here, in the present as a seventh-year?" Ron said, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief, "That has got to be the most tosh I've heard in a long time. Who knew that you were such a creative liar."

"Shh!" Hermione hissed irritably, glancing around the common room with an expression of anxiety momentarily filling her features. When no one around reacted, the noise level remaining consistent, she turned to face Ron again and said, "Why would I lie to you?"

"Look, what do I care if you and Harry are together? You could tell the truth like a normal person and get on with it." Ron told her exasperatedly. Hermione stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly. He stared back at her defiantly. Then, the corners of Hermione's mouth started to twitch and pretty soon, she was laughing, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Where could you have possibly gotten _that_ idea from?" She managed to choke out through a torrent of giggles. She shook her head, her frizzy hair flinging from side to side with the movement.

"You don't have to be sarcastic with me!' Ron said, face steadily getting red, "I don't see why I didn't see it to begin with!"

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath to steady herself and then stopped laughing, her smile vanishing suddenly. "Ron," she said gently, "Harry and I aren't together." She gave him a careful look and said pointedly, "And we never will be. Now will you stop acting like a loony and listen to what I'm saying?"

"You aren't?" Ron asked suspiciously. Hermione rolled her eyes and then nodded, waiting for Ron to get a grip.

"Okay," He said finally and sat back into his chair. _Why am I making such a fuss about it, anyway? _He thought irritably. Ron tried to get his mind back to the subject. Harry. Or rather, Harry's father, or so said Hermione. He had seen a Harry with eyes that were not green, laughing and talking to a pretty girl in a way that Harry wouldn't have done. He had been confused and Hermione's yanking him aside and explaining had only confused him more. It was downright outlandish to think that James Potter was alive right now, as he was in the past.

"Why didn't you tell me about it before, then?" Ron demanded suddenly. Hermione gave him a long, patient look. When Ron still looked back at her uncomprehendingly, arms crossed over his chest, she sighed.

"Isn't it obvious? You would have told Harry."

"So?" Ron asked and then furrowed his brow, "Why don't you want Harry to know? It **is** his dad and he's going to be furious if he ever finds out that you kept something like this from him."

"Ron, this is so much more important than that!" Hermione cried in impassioned frustration, "If Harry finds out and James, er, his father finds out that in this time, he's dead, then something disastrous could happen! We could wake up one morning to find that Harry never was born and that V-Voldemort—stop cringing like that, Ron!—never went out of power to begin with. By withholding this one little secret, we could be saving thousands of innocent lives! Harry's important, Ron. I would have thought that you would have known that."

Ron shook his head as if trying to clear his head of all of the newly presented ideas. "But what if that wouldn't happen if Harry's dad met him? How do we know that it would even happen?" He asked slowly.

"We don't. But Ron, we can't take that risk. Do you understand?" Hermione looked straight into his eyes and repeated, "Do you understand? You can't tell Harry. You have to keep this a secret."

Ron sighed and leaned back in his chair and then spoke two very weighted words, "I understand."


	17. Electrified

JKR's charries aren't mine. Blah, blah. Anyhow, thank you for all of the positive reviews for my last chappy. I tried to make it a smidgeon longer and more descriptive for all of you "your chaps are short" people. Any better? Tell me why or why not. I can pretty much promise longer chapters from here on out, though I can't say I'm doing it as a concession to the reviewers, as this is how I planned it all along. Sorry! Also, apologies for not putting this up sooner. I've been on vacation and grounded, back to back, so you can see how there would be a delay. Moving on—Boredanddelirious! You're back, woo-hoo! Yes, you can _count_ on not seeing the last of me. It's my dream to publish, hopefully before I'm twenty-five. Love getting your reviews, because you tell me _what_ you like and give reasons why. This really helps me to know what readers like and look for in a story. And you'd BETTER write on Harvest Moon, or I shall have to chase you with a fire poker.

Oh and Lunatic Pandora1—JKR said herself in an interview that Hermione and Harry's relationship is "platonic", meaning nonphysical. However, if you read the books a bit more closely, you might find out that Hermione might just be in a relationship with someone else sometime soon…

And in conclusion, everyone, keep reviewing! I can't believe there are over a hundred…I never thought I'd have so many readers! I'm flattered! Onward, go!

……………….

_The pond was unnaturally still, its mirror-like surface showing no ripples. He looked down, the moonlight a halo around his head. The waters showed a perfect reflection of the moon and its just tangible craters, but his own face did not stare back at him. As if he was a wraith of a person, unreal and fake, there was no reflection staring back at him. He could not see the black robes garbing him, but he could feel the fabric against his skin. He could not see the mop of unruly hair on top of his head, but he could feel it on the back of his neck. His breath made a silver mist in the air as his eyes riveted on the smooth pond. His reflection was not there and for some reason, it bothered him. He moved this way and that, hoping to see his face, angry and frustrated, staring up at him. He leaned forward, touching the water with a hand. He felt it slip from his fingers, binding a deep, damp chill into his skin, but as he retracted the hand, he did not see its likeness mimicking it. He turned away then, ready to give up. As he moved, he caught a glimpse of something moving on the surface of the water, something pale and indistinct. He turned quickly, but the reflection vanished as he tried to get a closer look._

"You have to leave. You can't stay here," came an insistent, slightly panicky voice. It was stern, but obviously female.

_Harry paused and looked all around. That voice…it was familiar. Where had it come from? He couldn't see where the sound had originated from. From where did he know that voice? It felt as if he should have known whose it was, but the knowledge was just out of reach. He returned to looking at the pond. He strained his eyes, trying to comb the entire length of the water for the glimmer that he thought he had seen. It was bitterly cold, but for some reason, only his left leg and right elbow were numb. He felt slightly achy, too, as if he had been battered. _

"Now that I've seen him, I can't leave. You won't make me." This voice was belligerent and declarative.

_Harry frowned and touched his hand to his throat. It sounded like a mimicry of his own voice, but he hadn't spoken. This time, the voice was louder, closer. Someone had stolen his voice. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. The howling of the wind droned on, muting every sound he tried to make. He tried to watch everything at once. This was an odd place; there were so many mysteries yet unsolved. Where had his reflection fled? What had moved across the pond's still surface only moments before? Where were the disembodied voices coming from?_ I must be going mad, _he thought wonderingly. Curiously, this thought didn't upset him. There was a strange calm about this place, an odd serenity that saturated the very air. Despite the hysterical need to deny this reality, it was keeping a hold on him._

"You don't know what you're doing! You don't know what's at stake!"

"Kindly calm down, Miss Granger." _Granger. Hermione. A jolt of electricity seemed to penetrate his still, calm world. He didn't know why the name came to mind when he heard the first voice, or why the second voice, closely echoing the tones of the first voice that had pierced his consciousness, still seemed so familiar. He turned his gaze to the cloudless sky, to the distant pinpoints of light that made up the stars and the luminescent circle of the moon. _

"I think that he has made up his mind." This voice was world-wearied, laden with experiences of lifetimes combined, "There's precious little we can do to change his mind now. The damage is done." _There was a moment of blessed silence, a brief respite from the voices echoing in his head and then—_

"He's mine and Lily's child. I saw the picture." _It was his voice again, Harry observed placidly, but the sound of it was defensive and defiant. He sank down next to the pool of water, sitting cross-legged and gazing, listening to the conversations his mind echoed. _

"I wish I could have spared you from this. What has happened can't be undone. We'll live with the consequences." _The ancient voice responded to his own and there were murmurs and a sharp intake of breath. It continued, _"Now, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I think that the two of you should return to your common room. Mr. Potter needs his rest." Faint noises followed

"Minerva?" And there were more faint noises that sounded almost like a door being eased shut, but no more voices.

_Harry turned his head, feeling as if something was watching him from over his shoulder. He caught a flash of white, but nothing else. He returned to looking at the pond, now feeling slightly uneasy. The surface of the water rippled slightly as Harry watched. He sprang to his feet suddenly. Reflected in the pond was a luminous white stag with liquid hazel eyes and two shining antlers atop its head. Harry turned, but everything turned to blackness around him, the image of the stag impressed upon his mind._

"Prongs." Harry opened his eyes, the word tumbling from his lips carelessly, a leftover fragment from his dream. He hadn't meant to address the boy that stood silently next to his bed in the infirmary. The boy could have been his twin, save for the long nose…and the eyes behind the antique frames that fastened on him now.

"You've been properly educated then," nodded his father, "Then you're really my son." He looked amused, but his humor couldn't conceal a sort of keen fascination and intense shock. Harry's hand shot for his glasses and he fumbled with them for a moment before placing them on his nose. Everything leapt into focus and Harry could virtually count the hairs on his father's head. His _young_ father's head, he noted. Harry couldn't seem to form words. There was this roaring sound filling his ears, a throbbing that thrummed in his head.

"Dad?" He choked out, utterly confused and shocked to the core.

"A few years younger," James Potter replied, "But I guess so." He grinned in what seemed like a sheepish way, running a hand through his thick, messy hair that Harry had inherited from him. His eyes moved to a newly framed photograph on the bedside table and Harry could see that it was his favorite picture of his parents and Sirius, "Found that during a little trot at the Forbidden Forest."

Harry looked at his father again and something clicked. His father was dead. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. He cleared his throat, ignoring the lump that had previously lodged itself there and also the stinging behind his eyes.

"You aren't real." Harry told him flatly, trying to suppress the part of him that very much wanted this to be real. But he knew the truth. His dad was dead…and even if he weren't, he certainly wouldn't still be young enough to attend Hogwarts. James Potter stared back at him with the same eyes that Harry remembered seeing through the Pensive, looking slightly puzzled.

After a moment of silence, his father crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I'm not? Well, that's news to me."

"You can't be," Harry explained, staring at this apparition, a painful lump building in his throat. His voice came out choked and hoarse. _My dad is dead. My dad is dead…dead…has been for years and years…_ "You're dead." A whisper.

Those words seemed to reverberate around the room a couple of times, ringing through a silence that had suddenly become deafening. The door suddenly flung open, revealing Dumbledore. But Dumbledore was too late this time. Harry knew, in that instant, what he had done. He couldn't stop looking at his father…his alive, real, true father. His somehow young father who had just learned that he was supposed to be dead. Dumbledore's intensely blue eyes flicked from Harry to James and he strode across the hospital wing quickly, instantly understanding what had happened. It paraded across James Potter's expressive face. Shock, horror and confusion blended across his features as he stood still, very, very still in the center of the room. As soon as Dumbledore moved, though, James moved as well. Harry caught one more glance of his father's pale face before he turned heel and darted from the room.

"James!" Dumbledore's exclamation overrode Harry's own voiceless exclamation, '_Dad!'_ Neither was sufficient to call back James. He was beyond any reach now; neither could understand the depth of the shock he felt. For a moment, Harry thought that Dumbledore would go after his father, but he didn't. With something like resignation etched into his lined face, the Headmaster turned to face Harry.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words came as if they were being jerked from his throat, "How long? How long has he been here? How long have you known he was here? This would have NEVER happened!"

"Your father was transported here by a hex from the young version of Professor Snape. I found out that he was here the night that he arrived, which was precisely six days ago this morning."

"You mean that my father has been here, in the present, for six days and I'm just now finding out about it?!" Harry felt suddenly helpless and very, very tired. He sunk down against the pillow, shaking, his eyes burning a virulent shade of green. He had never before hated Dumbledore so much.

"I had no way of knowing how it would affect the past by allowing the two of you to come in contact. You see, Harry, this incident was exactly what I feared." Dumbledore drew up a chair and sat next to Harry's bed, unaffected by the burning stare fixed on him.

"It's all your fault! If you had told me to begin with that my father was here then none of this would have EVER HAPPENED!" Harry sat bolt upright, ignoring the weariness of his limbs and the general protest of his body against such movement without full recuperation.

"It has happened now, hasn't it?" Dumbledore said quietly and then looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles, "You need to rest." Harry wasn't listening. He was trying to toss his legs over the side of the bed.

"MY DAD IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE AND—"

"My, my…" Madam Pomfrey stuck her head into the door and then her eyes widened. She marched over to Harry's bedside and exerted considerable force on his shoulder, "Back into bed with you, Mr. Potter!"

"I WON'T—"

"Oh, but you will. Your injuries need more time to heal, dear." She tossed a look at the Headmaster and said, "This boy needs his rest. If you don't mind, Headmaster?" Harry, weakened in his current state, fell back on to the pillows, anger bleaching his skin white.

"I have to go, I have to…"

"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said, facing him before leaving, "Your father deserves to have an explanation before he faces you again." Harry watched him close the door with distrustful eyes. He took the goblet from Madam Pomfrey and greedily drank it down, falling asleep to feelings of fury and depression.


	18. Deepening Gloom

Thank you, readers, for your patience with me and my lunatic schedule. Thank you so much, reviewers! All Jimmy fans get cookies. And I think I need to address an issue before we go on to the story. I'm sorry, but this is NOT meant to be a 'Harry exacts revenge' story. There will be very little of Harry blowing his gasket. Last chapter is pretty much all you will get in that area. I'm focusing on the impact it would have on James in this story. Keep that in mind. And please, no flames if this isn't to your liking. Suggestions, however, are always welcome. Be aware that this is coming to a close. Happy reading!

…………….

The sky had long since lost its purple tendrils of evening. Now, inky blankness swallowed the colorful sunset that had occurred only moments before, showing pinpricks of stars and a pale, thin sliver of moon. Remus Lupin's breath made mist in front of his prematurely aged face as he walked along, his shabby robes swirling around him. The grounds around him seemed so familiar, if aged. He permitted a thin smile. It was only fitting, as he, too, had grown older. He looked as thin and gaunt as ever, his graying brown hair hanging limply around his face. He looked worlds different than the Hogwarts student that James Potter knew, but at the same time, exactly the same. His footsteps were quick on the grass and his presence seemed to capitalize the urgency of the situation.

Remus was usually a calm, rational person. It had taken some time for Dumbledore to explain himself to Remus. James had been one of his best friends…someone who was sorely missed, even now. He was used to being alone by now; years of thinking two of your best friends dead and the other a betrayer would do that to a person. The only difference between now and a couple of years ago was that Remus now knew that Peter was the traitor and that Sirius and James were dead. Or, at least, he had _thought_ that James was dead. According to Dumbledore, James had been transported into the future for a brief period of time by an awry hex from young Severus Snape, who _mysteriously _seemed unable to remember what he had used. It had been quite a lot to swallow. The part that was hardest to fathom was just how James managed to find out that he was dead. _If Dumbledore had told Harry in the first place—_There was no sense in thinking in 'ifs'. What was done, was done. As soon as Dumbledore explained this to him, Remus knew what he would be asked to do. And he had just as promptly accepted.

A part of him still refused to believe that, after all of these years, he would be seeing James Potter as he once knew him, alive and whole again. He had been at the funeral, he had heard parting words spoken over the body of a great friend and conspirator…and he would see him again, as if he never died. It was unthinkable. It was madness. His mind rejected the concept. But his heart was very aware of memories of a young James Potter who had made sacrifices just to be his friend, a James Potter who was never anything but loyal and courageous when it came to his friends. And his heart had leapt when he finally was convinced that James—even as a seventh-year student—had briefly returned. Hearts were selfish like that. This was also his friend who had just found out that he wasn't going to be a professional Quidditch player, the best Auror the force had ever seen or even the next Minister of Magic. James had just found out that the only thing in his future was death. And Remus was being sent to tell him that he should accept it.

_How am I any better than Peter? _Remus thought as he reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, _How can I be anything but a worm for what I'm about to do? Peter killed him…and I'm convincing him to die. For what cause? _Despite these anguished thoughts, he answered himself miserably. _For thousands of lives, for hundreds upon hundreds of innocent people. _He felt very much like he was being asked to choose between his friend and the fate of wizardkind. So, with mixed emotions, Remus walked forward, lighting his wand to cast light against the deepening gloom.

He knew where James would be, of course. The same place where James had gone when he found out that his parents were among the casualties of the war between Voldemort and his foes, the same place where James had gone after he had saved Snape from a transformed, younger Remus, the same place where he had gone the night before they had graduated. James didn't like to be alone often; he was a people-person and loved to be the center of attention. But when he did seek solitude, James always went to one particular spot in the Forbidden Forest. Therefore, it wasn't hard to seek him out if you really knew him. That was another reason why Dumbledore had summoned him.

Remus tried to walk quietly, but he knew that James would hear him. He was swiftly approaching a massive tree that was given a wide berth by surrounding trees. This one was bent as if it bore the worries of the world, its branches touching the undergrowth of the forest below. The thick, gnarled boughs made perfect perches for animal life…and one young James Potter. James looked up as he approached, his gaze humorless and long. Remus easily mounted the branch that held the younger version of his dead friend and sat next to him.

"You're old, Moony," James said, before Remus could say a word. Remus met his scrutinizing gaze, "I still recognized you, though. Haven't changed too much, have you?"

"Give or take a few gray hairs and a couple wrinkles," agreed Remus. The two embraced like brothers, James clapping a hand on his back just the way that he used to. It was bizarre beyond all reason. When they parted, Remus studied James's face. _He's just as I remembered him in the 'glory days,' _he thought wryly. It was funny to think that those had been the best years of his life, despite the shadow of terror of Voldemort's first reign.

After a pause, Remus finally asked, "Alright there, Prongs?" It felt so weird to say that. He hadn't spoken it in so long; he had tried to prevent it from coming into his thoughts. He had never had better friends than Prongs or Padfoot.

"Well, for a dead chap, I suppose I'm jolly good." James said, but there was more than a statement behind those words. He wanted an explanation. Those hazel eyes brooked no nonsense. Both he and James knew why he was really here. Remus thought back to his conversation with Dumbledore, remembering a specific part…

_"If I go to him, I want to be able to comfort him," Remus had told Dumbledore, meeting the wizard's bright blue eyes._

_"I know what you're referring to. The only things I ask of you are that you don't tell him who betrayed him…or about the prophecy." Remus had started to protest, but Dumbledore had continued, "We can't risk changing things, Remus. You know how important this is to the fate of the world. I think that knowing that he died a hero will be enough for James." _

"_You don't know James as well as I do, professor. He likes to know the whole story, no matter how hurtful it might be." _

_Albus Dumbledore's face was grave, sad, "Unfortunately, this is not about what James likes. You do realize that we are gambling with the lives of thousands of people?" _

Remus had wanted to yell, 'Forget those people,' but something had restrained him. He cared if people died…he knew that James did too. He would have to do what had proven impossible in the past: hide something from James Potter. Sirius and James had found out his deadly secret at Hogwarts, but Remus couldn't afford to make any Freudian slips this time.

"Good…you did something good by dying, James." Remus said. Something in James's eyes flickered, but he let his friend continue, "You died facing Lord Voldemort, defying his wishes. You escaped him several times before then, something that was rare at best. You died bravely. You didn't give in."

James was silent for a long moment, still on the tree branch. The darkness around them was almost oppressive. Finally, he nodded. Remus watched as James faced him again.

"Moony, I think I knew."

"What?"

"At least, I think I knew something was wrong." James shook his head slightly, "No one wanted me to know who Harry was, so I stayed away from him. I think I knew that there was something I didn't want to know. And I was right. Harry doesn't know me. I died young." The end of James's wand was the only thing providing light, but Remus could still make out the serious cast of his face. It was an expression that rarely crossed the young James's face, as Remus could remember. James had a very open, mobile face that usually displayed his love for life…a life that he now knew would end soon. It was remarkable how easily Remus fell back into the swing of knowing his friend.

Sitting here in the semidarkness was like reliving old memories, ones that were remembered with a fond tear. When this James was taken from him again, Remus knew that he would have to heal all over again. But right now, he was concerned for his friend. He would have to be very careful not to mention anything that he wasn't sure that James already knew.

"I can't tell you that you didn't, James." He replied quietly, watching him carefully. James's face was still unbelievably still, almost like a mask. The half-light revealed his eyes to be far away from behind his glasses.

"Did it count for anything?" James asked suddenly.

"You died a hero. Thousands of lives were saved." _Because of your son. Because of you and Lily, daring to have a baby in such a dangerous, wild time. Your courage together was the reason that Harry was conceived. _Remus could still remember his reaction when a thoroughly overjoyed James told him, Sirius and Peter the news…that Lily was pregnant. Remus had never thought that Harry would have an easy couple of years, with his parents defying the Dark Lord, but…he never expected James and Lily's son to become an orphan. Never.

Remus glanced again at his profile as he heard James sigh. His hand ruffled his messy dark hair and Remus couldn't help but to crack a smile. _That's James, alright. _He knew that James would be all right. After all, it _was_ James. James, who had confidence to spare. James, who had the same 'hero complex' that Remus had recognized in his son. James, who was probably one of the most noble people that Remus had ever been privileged to know. He and Sirius were of the same make. _Had been, _came the nasty little thought. Remus tried to squelch it quickly.

"I have to admit," said James finally in a light tone of voice, startling Remus out of what must have been quite a few moments of thought, "I didn't expect you. I thought that they would send Sirius." The statement took him so by surprise that he couldn't guard his expression. James might not have been the most perceptive person in the world, but he definitely wasn't dumb. Remus looked away too late.

"He's dead, then," James said, a hint of question in his voice, as if he was daring to hope otherwise. When Remus wouldn't—couldn't—respond, James's face cracked into a smile before crumpling, "I should have told him that there's a limit to proving loyalty."

Remus watched as tears streaked James's face, feeling a lump build in his own throat. _I can't believe that I let that out…I should have been more prepared…_But the pain of losing Sirius was too new to him. Remus had remarkable self-control (was necessary for a werewolf), but he was still human. Therefore, he had emotions that weren't so easily suppressed. He hugged his friend but didn't say anything. There were no words to comfort someone who had lost a friend. Remus knew this by experience. And Sirius was James's best mate.

To his surprise, James recovered quickly, shrugging off his friend's comfort. There was something set about his jaw, something determined about his facial features. Remus looked on warily and waited for his friend to say something.

"There has to be some way to change it." James said harshly, "How did he die? I can go back and—"

"You can't, Prongs." Remus interrupted, "It'll change the course of time." He felt hollow suddenly and he couldn't meet the gaze of the younger version of his friend. He wanted to change it so badly. He wanted to believe that it wouldn't end in disaster, but he was too logical for that. James and Sirius had always been the passionate, fiery ones who thought with emotions and drives rather than with logic and sense. They were brilliant people, but both Sirius and James had been too impulsive.

"You don't want to save your own friend?" James looked at him with the gaze of someone who is in absolute disbelief. There was something accusing about his stare.

"Listen, James! There are some things that can't be messed with! You don't know how much I wish that Sirius could come back, or how much I wish we could do something about it! For all you know, if you try to change history, you might end up killing us all! It's bad enough to live without the pair of you when I thought that we'd all grow old together, but to change it all now…to risk making it worse…"

"What about making it better? Isn't it worth the risk if only to try? So that I can look my best mate in the face and say, 'look, I tried,' rather than, 'I bloody well let you die'?!" James jumped down from his perch on the tree and glared at Remus, "I'm not going to consent to letting my best friend die!"

"What if I told you that it could mean death for other people?" Remus asked quietly.

"Then I would say to shove it. The hard truth is that people will and have died with or without Sirius." James shook his head, "I can't believe you, Moony. I can't believe that you wouldn't try to save a friend."

"He died by dueling with Bellatrix. She…was a Death Eater." Remus said a moment later. He, too, had left his spot on the tree, if not with less ease than James. James swore and raked a hand through his hair. A moment later, though, he seemed to have recovered his composure.

"I leave tomorrow morning. That's enough time to figure this out." James said determinedly as he dodged underbrush and sidestepped the dense trees with familiarity. Remus followed haltingly, suddenly feeling weary. _What have I done?_


	19. Isolated

Well, you Harry and James interaction freaks, you got your wish. And…it turns out that there is a bit more room for Harry's anger, though I'm not planning on having him blow everyone up like some of you think I should. I firmly maintain that while Harry has a temper, he is a rational person as well. I somehow don't think he would spontaneously go mad, no matter how much hurt he suffers. I also think that he's very much of a survivor, therefore such violent explosions would be against his moral fiber.

COOKIES for Teahleaves! Yay for a fellow Jimmy fan! And I can't thank the rest of you reviewers enough for faithfully reviewing my stories and being patient with the long interludes. Now, happy reading!

…………

Harry stuffed his fists in his pockets, eyes staring straight ahead unblinkingly. He was walking away from the hospital wing, feeling loads less sore, but moodier. His green eyes had a dark cast to them, as if shadowed by some black emotion. Madam Pomfrey had released him, but she had been completely unaware of what had happened since he had fallen asleep. He felt completely clueless and slightly helpless, but that wouldn't last long. He would find out what happened to his father (it felt so weird to think that) even if he had to face Dumbledore again. He wasn't too eager to do so, as he was feeling strongly resentful towards the man. But then, he was feeling strongly resentful towards just about everyone. A large part of it was worry—where had his dad gone? But there was also anger and guilt. If it hadn't been for him, then his father wouldn't have found out that he was dead. Unconsciously, Harry uttered a small sigh.

He wasn't watching where he was going at all and was completely unaware of his surroundings. Had he been more alert, he would have heard the sounds of an animated quarrel coming to an abrupt halt as he ran into Ron. Hermione stood next to him and smiled when she saw Harry.

"Good, then." She said briskly, "You're better. We were just coming to check on you." Harry stared at her, momentarily in a state of complete disbelief. She was acting just as if he _didn't_ have the right to be infuriated with her…acting, in fact, as if she was _unaware_ of how she had wronged him. Ron, too, looked slightly surprised. For once, he was being a bit more perceptive than Hermione, appearing slightly nervous in his greeting.

"If by better you mean betrayed by my two best friends, yeah, I think it would fit." Harry said slowly, still slightly shocked by Hermione's complete lack of sensitivity to the situation.

"Look, I'm sorry, Harry. I wanted to—" Ron said, but Hermione interrupted.

"Harry, don't be silly. Of course we wanted you to know. There's just the whole matter of—"

"It just tells me how little the pair of you trust me! Can't you trust me to make my own decisions? It was MY DAD! MY DECISION! When my bloody dad shows up at Hogwarts, you bloody tell me! That's what friends do! And you didn't! I don't care what you _wanted_ to do, Ron. You _didn't_ and that's the point! So, in my book, neither of you are friends." Harry stopped suddenly, shaking his head in pure disgust, looking truly sick to his stomach.

"Harry—" Both of them called after him, but he turned a corner and went into the library before either of them could say a further word to him. He rushed into the library, hearing footsteps behind him, but managed to close the door just in time. He was shaking with anger, his face bleached of color. Harry found that he was breathing hard. It didn't occur to him that he had just broken ties with his two best friends as he numbly made his way through the library. He wasn't really aware of where he was headed; he just needed to get away from the anger and hurt that boiled inside. At least, he didn't know where he was going until he heard a familiar-sounding voice.

Harry froze, suddenly unsure of what to do. He could hear the voices clearly. One was Professor Lupin's and the other was…his father's.

"Prongs, I have faith in you. That's the only reason that I'm refraining from saying how disastrous this could turn out."

"It's good to know that you have faith in me, mate, because I don't think I'd listen if you told me that this could turn out to be a disaster."

"I didn't think so." There was a moment of hesitation and then Lupin added, "And while you're at it, tell Padfoot to never let Peter be the Secret-Keeper."

"What?"

"Just do it. I'm not explaining anything. I'm trusting you, so you have to trust me with this."

There was a considering pause and finally, "Alright, mate. It's only fair. You sure that Dumbledore won't do a memory charm on me?"

As Lupin and his father (well, the younger version of his father, at least) continued to talk about this, Harry stood very still, unable to move. He wanted to talk to his father, but his father might not want to talk to him after their last meeting… His head jerked up suddenly as the conversation sunk in. Lupin had just said to tell Sirius never to let Peter be the Secret-Keeper. Therefore…Wormtail would never betray his father…and his father would never die. His heart skipped a beat and his hands shook. He wasn't aware that his dad and Lupin had finished their conversation and were standing to leave.

"Harry!" said Lupin in surprise, causing Harry to start violently. He was barely paying attention to his former professor, though. He had come face to face with his father once again. Apparently, James Potter wasn't expecting the sudden appearance of the boy that everyone claimed would be his son, because he started slightly as well.

After a moment, Lupin said, "Well, I'll just go ahead and tell Dumbledore that you'll be along in a second, James." Apparently, he realized that he had suddenly become invisible to the two stunned boys. Neither were aware of his sudden disappearance. Hazel met green, the expressions in their eyes identical.

Harry felt a rushing sensation, an overwhelming feeling that he was suddenly…warmer, more alive. It felt as if a part of him that he had been painfully aware that he was missing had suddenly fallen into place. This boy, only a little older than himself, was in fact, his father at a younger age. _My father_.The same messy black shock of hair. _My _father. The same lanky frame. His father—the same features staring back at him.

It wasn't a surprise that James, ever impulsive, was the first to talk, adopting a serious tone of voice, "Look…I know that you don't know me. I can tell by the way you're so shocked when you see me. I must have died when you were…very young." This was apparently hard for his father to say. Harry looked down, barely able to meet his gaze. He was shaking slightly, he realized…and a lump was forming in his throat.

"But…I thought I'd never meet you." Harry said suddenly, "The truth is…I have no memory of you." This statement hung in the air for a few moments before his dad shook his head, stirring strands of the hair that was identical to Harry's.

"I _must_ have been a good dad, Harry. I _must_ have loved you and wanted you to be safe. You have Lily's eyes…my hair…my face…" Harry looked up and caught his expression, "You _must_ be in my future. I just can't believe that I would leave a son behind no matter what happened." Harry kept staring at him, at loss for words, so his father filled the silence, "But Harry, I'm just a kid. I'm your age. I don't know what to make of this." There was quiet desperation in his tone, as if he were begging his future son to understand.

Harry's eyes were moistening…this boy wasn't his father. He was only a year older than himself. He _was_ just a kid, not the adult guardian that Harry had lacked for his entire life. He felt sick, sorely disappointed. He didn't know what he had expected out of this younger version of his father, but he felt as if he were being let down. His father caught the expression on his face and reached up to comb his hands through his hair anxiously.

"I don't know you, Harry." His father explained, "But I'm proud of you…and I love you."

Of course, this entire scene had taken place in the library without a single motion towards the books or studying, so Madam Pince came along to investigate. It was clear that she was going to shoo them from her library if they didn't have anything to be studying. Unnoticed by both boys, the decrepit old woman inched closer to them, until she came in hearing range…and heard the last three words of what James said to Harry. She also witnessed Harry hugging James, now sobbing. The librarian decided to back away. Slowly.


	20. Chapter the Last

This entire concept and all of the charries belong to JKR (though it's always fun to steal them and run around cackling with them). Sorry, reviewers. I realize that a lot of you want to see more James/Harry interaction. But, in truth, there's not much more that can be done without making either one of them look gay…or straying beyond what I think is the character's persona. And you have to realize that, well, this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue, but only so all of you won't absolutely kill me. And just to be extra safe, I think that I'll post both on the same day, so I won't receive complaints. So, you can understand how this might be long time in coming. Once again, thanks for the reviews, everyone. And happy reading!  
…………

Vehement voices could be heard clashing violently as Ron and Hermione made their way down the hallway. Hermione's face was twisted in anguish—it looked like she was about to cry. Ron, unheeding to this, was red in the face with anger, his eyes snapping with frustration.

"I just wish that sometimes you wouldn't pretend to know everything! He'll never forgive us! I told you, I told you! Oh, bloody heck, Hermione…" Ron subsided abruptly, scrubbing his hands through his hair in a way reminiscent of James. He tossed a nervous glance at his female best friend, whose shoulders shook slightly, tears pouring from her brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry…" She ducked her head, ashamed, her cloud of bushy hair falling into her tear-streaked visage. There was an awkward silence—Ron didn't know what to say when females started with the tears. It all made him a little nervous, to be honest. But he wasn't mad at her anymore, that was the thing. Her crying made him feel kind of bad. Guilty, yeah, that was it. Ron sighed slightly and then reached over in a startlingly affectionate gesture and wrapped an arm around her. Her head immediately leaned into his shoulder, as if it just…fit there. She was making soft whimpering noises. He stopped suddenly and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Hermione, come on now…I'm not mad, I guess."

"Oh, but Ron…I made a big, big mistake…Harry," She cut off abruptly, using her fingers to wipe a few trickling tears from beneath her puffy eyes. She couldn't seem to go any further. Ron wasn't sure how to comfort her…because part of him did blame her for the loss of Harry's friendship.

"Well, it's almost over," he said finally, "Harry's dad goes back in a few minutes." Hermione nodded and sniffled, struggling to regain composure. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her, even if the entire thing _was_ her fault… _Well, it _is_ her fault! If she hadn't told me not to tell Harry, I would have told him. _But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe that. It had been his choice. He had chosen to listen to Hermione rather than go with his gut feeling. He gave Hermione's shoulders a brief squeeze before releasing them.

"It's too late now, Ron," Hermione said as they walked on. She seemed to be regaining composure, though her face was still slightly puffy from her brief crying spell, "James knows that Harry is his son…and that he dies in the future. There's no telling how it will affect the past…and our time. I hope that Dumbledore puts a memory charm on him." Ron opened his mouth with a snappish remark on his tongue, but then he glanced at her, saw the evidence of tears still lingering…and saw fear on her features.

"I dunno, Hermione…" He said uneasily at last. Ron knew that if he got the chance to see the future that he wouldn't want all of his memories erased. It would drive him mental. The two continued down the hall in a contemplative silence.

……………….

James risked a sidelong glance at Harry, whose face was covered by a dark storm cloud. He couldn't seem to believe that this person was his son. Sure, he looked remarkably like him, spookily like him, _uncannily _like him…but his disposition was so different. James sensed a quiet strength in him, almost as if he held the fate of the world on his shoulders. James hadn't seen him smile since he met the kid. Somehow, it gave him a very bad feeling. Like Harry had been…tortured, or something. And even if he wasn't Harry's father yet, he would be…and he couldn't help but feel a measure of anger towards whatever had caused the boy pain.

"Things will be different." James told Harry confidently, attempting to cheer him up. Harry finally looked in his direction. James couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow disappointed him. _Well, what does he expect! I'm barely a year older than him! I'm not his father yet! _James had never felt quite so immature…quite so useless.

"How can you be sure?" Harry asked finally, "How do you really know?"

"I don't," said James and then added fervently, "But it's worth the risk." To that, Harry had no reply. James could tell that Harry, like everyone else that lived in this…warped future, knew something that he didn't. It was frustrating. James had never found a need to suppress curiosity before, but…

"I can't imagine life with parents," Harry said suddenly, his gaze straight ahead, even as James looked at him. James's mouth fell open slightly as a new realization hit him. _Lily's dead here, too. _He was forced to stop, afraid that he was going to vomit. The two people that he cared most about in the world…were dead in the future. _Well, so am I…_but somehow, it was different. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat and he swallowed thickly. Harry had realized that he had halted and now turned to face him, puzzled by the sudden look of anguish marring his father's face.

"Lily…Lily's gone too?" James laughed a little and shook his head, "I guess I failed to draw the obvious conclusion." He looked away from the boy who so much resembled him, his shoulders heaving with pained, ragged breaths. _Sirius and Lily…why? _It was bad enough to find out that he hadn't survived, but this…this was a physical pain. He was beyond crying, however. James's jaw set as he looked back at Harry, barely hearing his son's words.

"I didn't…" Harry's green eyes mirrored the agony that James felt. James clapped the boy on the back. He wasn't an affectionate person, usually. Besides, hugging someone that looked exactly like you—even if he was your future son—was a little awkward. James swallowed again, just to be sure that he kept the heart-wrenching emotions back. He had to be strong. Now, more weight was placed on his shoulders. It was up to him to change their fate…to bring Sirius and Lily the futures they deserved. It was up to him…to live.

"Dad?" The tentative word punctuated his thoughts and he tried not to look too startled as he looked at Harry. _Dad…_it was so weird, such an awkward, funny word for a boy no more than a year younger than him to be using on him. James could see that Harry felt odd using it as well. Yet…at the same time, it felt right. _I can't let him down either… Harry's counting on me. He's my…son… _

"Dumbledore's not getting any younger." James said finally, cracking a grin despite the tumultuous emotions raging at him from the inside, "It's time to go."

………….

Dumbledore was looking older than Remus had ever seen him. He was very aware of every deep line etched into the Headmaster's weathered face, each wrinkle that formed around his mouth when he formed a new expression. His youthful blue eyes were clouded over slightly with graveness. Remus had just informed him that James wasn't going to tolerate a Memory Charm.

"Remus, you have to understand that not making him forget would cause disaster. James Potter has never been the most predictable of my students." Dumbledore said, his fingers steepling on his desk out of habit. _I know, Professor. I know what James will attempt…and I trust him more than I trust you. _Remus was shocked at the last thought. Bu then he realized that it made sense. James was one of his dearest friends, past, present and as long as he lived. Dumbledore was a mentor, a guide, someone to be admired and trusted. But as much as he trusted Dumbledore, he trusted James more. Maybe it had something to do with so many of those school adventures, or the sacrifice that he, along with Sirius and Peter—at the time, had made. Remus had always been able to rely on James…and James had never failed him. Now, as an adult with gray streaking his hair, it was time for him _not_ to do the responsible thing for once in his life…and to repay a long overdue debt. _I just hope that I'm right about this…_

His face haggard and pale with the guilt of his decision weighing upon his mind, he responded, "No, he hasn't. But I think he understands." _He understands, all right. He understands better than most people. _Dumbledore looked at him searchingly for a few moments before nodding thoughtfully.

"I trust your judgment, Remus." Remus nearly flinched underneath the weight of Dumbledore's words, but he forced himself to nod. He was never good at being intentionally deceitful. He didn't bother to console himself. After all, he was the responsible one. It hurt to think of times when he used to get James and Sirius out of trouble, after they had pulled one of their ridiculous stunts… _Curse you, James! I would have been alright…Will things ever be alright? _He turned towards the door, glad for the excuse to look away from Dumbledore's penetrating blue stare. Footsteps had echoed; someone was coming.

It was McGonagall, closely followed by Neville Longbottom. Neville looked at Remus and smiled; Remus returned the smile, recalling a pasty-faced Severus Snape in a granny's getup. _If only James and Sirius had seen_… He wouldn't think about that again. Remus thought too much. He exchanged greetings with both professors, though Snape's was far more dour.

"Ah, Minerva, Severus…good," Dumbledore said. Remus hadn't noticed the potion flask that Snape held, but it was impossible to miss it now, as all eyes turned to it. A silence fell in the room, each person absorbed in their own thoughts. Neville seemed to be cowering away from the stare of Snape—apparently, the Potions master wondered why the boy was present. McGonagall seemed to be looking questioningly to Dumbledore, who was waiting patiently. Remus did what he always did, watching everyone's faces and gauging emotions.

At last, the gargoyle allowed Hermione and Ron inside, followed shortly by a subdued James and a somber Harry. Each boy had his head bowed; James just looked as if he had just lost his best friend. Harry looked remorseful, guilty. He was scrupulously careful not to look in Hermione or Ron's direction, even though both were subtly pleading for his attention. Harry halted, watching his father walk forward to stand squarely in front of Dumbledore's desk. James's face was blanched pale, but his trademark cheeky grin appeared over his features when he glanced in Remus's direction.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked and the Potions professor, his face writhing to form an expression of intense dislike, handed the flask to James.

"Didn't poison me, Snivelly?" James asked quietly, his eyes glittering slightly. Remus cleared his throat from nearby and the boy accepted the potion. He held it in his hand for a moment and stared. He then looked up.

"Moony, thanks, mate." He said quietly, his face serious for once, "Thanks for being my friend…even though it's been a long time for you."

Remus nodded solemnly in return, unable to say anything. He watched the younger version of his friend intently as his eyes next sought Harry.

"Harry…I've only known you for a day and already, I know that I'm proud to have you as a son. And don't be mad at Hermione; she only did what she thought was best. She reminds me of Lily, really—stubborn." This elicited a small laugh from Hermione and a fervent agreement from Ron.

James, ever an attention-seeker, uncorked the flask slowly. There were tears in nearly every eye as he raised it to his lips….and lowered it again.

"Oh, and Neville…I'm _James._" And with that, James drank it…and was gone.


	21. The Epilogue

The sun blazed brilliantly in the azure blue sky, spilling golden streams of light into one particular dormitory of the Gryffindor common room. Harry Potter awoke with a splitting headache, feeling decidedly odd. It felt as if the lingering remnants of some powerful dream still had a hold on him…and he just couldn't let go. He scrubbed at his head of dark hair in puzzlement and suddenly, the headache vanished. He shrugged and parted his bed hangings, swinging his feet around to hit the ground. Harry stretched languidly, seeing that Seamus, Neville and Dean were already gone from their bunks, leaving puddles of pajamas behind and bed curtains fluttering with the light breeze that filtered in through the slightly ajar window. There was heavy breathing that suggested that Ron was still asleep. In that case, there was only one thing left to do.

"FIRE!" Ron came tumbling out of his bed and crashing to the floor in a torrent of panicked curses, wrestling with a tangle of bedcovers. Harry stood by casually as Ron proceeded to cuss at him (of course, realizing the truth of the matter).

"What is going on in here?" Hermione demanded, walking through the door, her eyes flitting between both boys. When she saw the situation, a suggestion of a grin tugged at her lips and she said, "Oh, _honestly. _You two act like a lot of third-years. And sleeping half of the day away besides."

"It's only…eleven, Hermione." Harry said, checking the rather…unorthodox clock on the wall.

"My point exactly," she informed him haughtily.

"Well, we can hardly get dressed if you're standing here, now can we?" Ron said rather sarcastically from the floor, disentangling himself from the crimson sheets. Hermione's face went scarlet and she stammered something before scooting out of the room. Ron sniggered after her and both boys readied themselves for the day.

Or tried to. There was a loud tapping at the window and Harry looked over to see a gaggle of owls attempting to carry a rather awkward-looking package. He rushed over to open the window, allowing a rustling of wings to fill the dorms. The package was deposited unceremoniously on his bed before the owls lighted off again. Harry inspected it and then ripped it open. His father's invisibility cloak lay in a silvery pool, along with a few Zonko's products. There was a scroll of parchment inside and his eyes scanned over it quickly before he laughed and read it aloud to Ron.

"_Harry—_

_You forgot the invisibility cloak. How are you supposed to cause trouble without it? I would be deeply disappointed if you didn't find some way of bothering your Potions professor. _

_Sirius suggested the Dungbombs, but please don't tell your mum about them. She would kill us (she already thinks that Sirius is a bad influence on you—but only Sirius, mind you). Uncle Remus adds that he hopes that you have a good term. We'll all come to watch your games, of course. Write when you find out about the next one._

_Greetings to Ron and Hermione. Love you, Dad_"

**LE END **

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Yes, I know that the ending was a bit of a letdown. I know that most of you wanted me to continue with some elaborate fiasco—"what-happens-when-James-tampers-with-time". The truth is that while I think that it would be more likely (and a much better way to end the story and begin a sequel), it would also not suit the theme of this story. I really wanted it to end like this all along. I've always felt bad for Harry, in not having a father. More so, I felt terrible that James was dead (I'm very attached to him). I wanted this to be a "heart-warming" story, not one that drags on and on and on…

I've had fun writing this little ficcy—my first ever. I promise, this won't be all from me. I will have a few one-chapter funny stories for a while, before I decide to create another large-scale story. There's just something fabulously sacred about the end of a tale that I couldn't bear to taint it with the beginning of another. I guess I'm just still in mourning. . I loved writing this and I'll confess, I didn't think that I would come to acquire such a broad range of readers. I'm so grateful to each and every one of you for faithfully reviewing, offering tips and encouragement. Your support has been an impetus for me to continue scribing this fanfiction, even when I felt that it was dull and uninteresting.

I hope that all of you think of this story fondly…and that I won't receive a lot of hate commentary for ending it the way that I did.

I hope that all of you will continue to read my work. Remember: To read is to enter a world, but to write is to create one.

Ta! In the words of Fred and George—Cheers!

**Dia**


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